


Here We Still Remain

by vailkagami



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm, awkward and non-romantic sex, non-permanent suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailkagami/pseuds/vailkagami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Lucifer tormenting his dreams, Sam fears sleep so much he sees only one way to get any rest at all. It's not pretty, but it does the job, and Sam is nothing if not pragmatic. Dean doesn't need to know, but then, he doesn't seem to care anyway. As Sam slowly crumbles under the weight of exhaustion, guilt, and his brother's mistrust, it's Castiel who unexpectedly reaches out to him - but the solution the angel offers might well be worse than the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [sassy-minibang](http://sassy-minibang.livejournal.com/) 2011.  
> Beta: [alice-alaizabel](http://alice-alaizabel.livejournal.com/)  
> [Art](http://chef-geekier.livejournal.com/30828.html) by [chef-geekier](http://chef-geekier.livejournal.com/)

The first time was different.

The first time happened when Sam was alone, desperate and so very tired. He’d left Dean who did not want him back, had no place to go and the dreams that tormented him were so bad that stopping to sleep seemed the only way to make them go away.

At first he had dreamt of Jessica. She’d been with him in his bed and it had felt so real that he couldn’t convince himself she wasn’t. That it wasn’t really Jess who’d come back to him, who didn’t hate him and still cared enough for a warning, even if it was a warning he didn’t want to hear. He _wanted_ it to be her so badly – there had been times since her death when he would have cut off his arm just to see her one more time, to tell her he how sorry he was, how much he regretted what happened to her. To explain. To tell her how much he loved her. He never did that when he had the chance – not often enough. Not strongly enough. There were so many things he should have told her and never did, but what he wanted most of all was for his last memory of her to not be the smell of burning flesh.

As he should have known it would be. As he would have known if only he had listened to his dreams then.

In his dreams now, Jess didn’t blame him. She didn’t demand answers, or revenge. Instead, she was worried about him, and even though he didn’t agree with what she told him Sam was happy just to have her near him, for a moment. His life was difficult and lonely – every hunter now knew what he had done and every person who liked him only did so because they didn’t know. But in his dreams Jess was waiting for him. Every night. For the first time in many years sleep wasn’t something to fear.

And then it wasn’t Jess but Lucifer who had Sam falling for it. Had him falling for it _again_ , after already letting himself be tricked into ending the world. And it turned out that that wasn’t the worst yet, that Sam hadn’t yet reached the full potential of how much he could fuck up.

He was Lucifer’s vessel. Lucifer needed him to rule the world, just like he had needed Sam before to get out of his cage and gotten exactly what he wanted.

The worst was that Lucifer cared. That he was sorry. That he wanted to help Sam while Dean only turned his back.

Sam fled that same night. He didn’t think he would be safe from the Devil anywhere at all, no, he left because he needed to get back to Dean. He was already well on his way when he called his brother to ask where they could meet and Dean hung up on him.

After the call, Sam pulled his stolen car to the side of the road and just sat in it, not knowing where to go. He had never expected this to happen. No matter how much he messed things up, he never thought he could push Dean so far that he never wanted to see his brother again. Dean was the only constant in Sam’s life, the only thing he took for granted.

Now Sam was alone and Dean… wasn’t. Dean was with Castiel, the angel who embodied everything Sam once believed in and who despised him for existing. Together they were fighting to stop what Sam had started, not letting Sam help because he would only fuck things up even more. And because Dean couldn’t bear to have him around anymore. Certainly, every problem they ran into reminded him of Sam’s mistakes, made him glad that at least he didn’t have to see his face anymore. Sam couldn’t blame him. He didn’t exactly love himself these days, hadn’t for a very long time, but until now he had found some selfish consolation in the knowledge that someone did.

At least he didn’t have to worry about Dean. Dean wasn’t on his own, he had an angel to watch out for him. Sam didn’t even have an excuse to go and see if Dean was alright; if he did, Dean would tell him that Cas had his back, more reliable and trustworthy than Sam had ever been. His place was taken.

Dean didn’t need him anymore.

Maybe he never did in the first place. Maybe he just needed _someone._ And if Sam was honest with himself, he never played that part very well. What had he ever done for his brother but take all he offered, let him go to Hell and then end the world as a reward?

He couldn’t blame Dean for liking Cas better when the angel had saved him, rebelled against Heaven for him and helped him try to save the world from Sam’s arrogance.

Sam couldn’t blame him. But it still hurt.

And he didn’t know what to do. He knew he had to fight Lucifer, find a way to make up for his mistakes and stop the apocalypse no matter what it cost him, but that night after the call he couldn’t summon the energy to even start the car. The despair was crippling. He couldn’t even turn to Bobby because sooner or later he would run into Dean and he couldn’t do that to his brother. He couldn’t do it to Bobby and he wouldn’t do it to himself.

Bobby was part of the team and Sam wasn’t. So he couldn’t bother the man, period.

Bobby had said he didn’t hate Sam for what he did. Sam didn’t want to push his luck and find out that that wasn’t all true either. He needed to hold on to something.

Dean and Bobby were the only ones he had, and now he had to savour whatever memories hadn’t yet been tainted.

Sam kept staring at the street, at the occasional red back light of cars driving by. He had been alone before. Never because no one wanted him, but he knew how to act on his own, without backup. And he would do it. He’d take responsibility and fight all alone if he had to. Tomorrow. Or even tonight. He would start the car as soon as he could breathe freely again.

The sun was beginning to rise when the so very familiar rumble of an engine pulled him out of his thoughts. Sam looked up to see the Impala pull up behind him and then Dean got out, coming over without hesitation. Sam met him halfway but the expected blow didn’t come. Instead, Dean gave him a somewhat awkward smile that lifted a heavy weight off Sam’s heart.

“Guess I could need you after all,” he said.

Sam smiled back, a little shy, a little unsure. He didn’t want to seem so needy.

“Where’s Cas?” he therefore asked, because he didn’t see the angel anywhere, and if he wasn’t with Dean he had to do something important.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “He’s somewhere. Doing something. You know how he is.” He shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care. He’ll show up when he’s got something.”

Sam couldn’t quite hide his surprise. “I thought you’d, you know. Care more.”

“Actually, well.” Dean seemed a little embarrassed – he looked like he did when searching for words that didn’t sound girly. “Thing is, he’s not you. That’s why I’m here. Cas is a great guy, but he can’t replace you. Too many awkward silences. I just wanted my little brother back. Guess I needed to be without you for a while to get what I’m missing.”

This time, Sam couldn’t suppress his smile and he hoped with all he had that Dean didn’t notice the wetness in his eyes. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he admitted.

“Actually, I do.” Suddenly Dean’s hands wrapped around Sam’s face and pulled him close and Sam’s first reaction was to jerk back because that was wrong, Dean didn’t act like that. Dean didn’t close his eyes and whisper into Sam’s face, “Remember I am here for you! I would _never_ let you down!”

Sam didn’t move, was paralysed for a long moment by shock and desperation, and when he finally managed to pull away he found himself back in the car with tears running down his cheeks. Alone.

He hit the road and drove until he couldn’t see straight anymore. He never looked for a motel, never thought about finding a place to sleep. His thoughts were running in circles around a dark place that was of no use to anyone. There was no point in looking for anything and he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t fall asleep again. Things only got worse when he did and they were already so very bad.

When he reached the point where he had to either stop or risk running someone over with his car, he parked the stolen vehicle a little off he road between threes, put his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Just as Lucifer prophesised he woke up before noon, with dried blood and little clunks of flesh and bone decorating the windows. A headache was all that was left of what must once have been an impressive hole in his skull.

It was the first time he killed himself but far from the last. Sam tried sleeping again, but Lucifer came every night – _every_ night if he let him – and Sam couldn’t bear it. He might go crazy. He didn’t trust himself not to give in because his track record sucked and already he found himself longing for the kindness and understanding Lucifer offered when no one else did.

Sam wanted that, but he didn’t want it from the Devil. He never for one moment forgot who he was dealing with or that this man – this _thing_ – was responsible for everything bad that ever happened to his family. To Jess.

That Lucifer dared to show him kindness disgusted him. That a weak, broken part of him wanted to accept it disgusted him more.

He wished Lucifer would just torture him. Torture he deserved, at least, and knew how to deal with.

With the dreams he couldn’t deal, and worst of all was that he couldn’t deal with waking up. So Sam threw himself into research, searched for a way to fix what he broke without ever stopping for breath, and when he got too tired to fight sleep any longer, he killed himself and came back to life – not well rested but less tired at least. All the wounds he got while hunting healed along with the one that killed him, leaving him fit for the task. It wasn’t the worst way of dealing with the situation, he thought. Better than giving in. Better than giving up.

By the time Dean sent for him, Sam had already killed himself four times and though he knew this was something he’d better hide from his brother, he saw no reason to stop doing what worked so well.

But the first time had been different.

The first time he hadn’t known for sure that he would come back.


	2. Chapter 1

Dean did not appear to be worried when he tried to call his brother after his trip to the (hypothetical) future and Sam didn’t answer. After all, it _was_ pretty late at night and there was a small but not entirely ignorable possibility that his brother was too deeply asleep to hear his cell ring.

They took care of a trail Castiel had found which distracted them for a day, and when Dean tried calling Sam again and still didn’t get an answer, the angel could see that it made him slightly upset.

He was obviously upset – alternating between annoyed, worried and angry – when there was still no reply the day after. Dean left messages on Sam’s mailbox that never resulted in the return-call he was hoping for. When he finally told Castiel about the call he got from his brother before Zachariah visited him that night and about what Sam had told him, Castiel was angry with Dean. Sam was Lucifer’s vessel, and he had already proven that he could not be trusted to resist temptation. Dean should never have refused his request to come back to them. Leaving him to his own devices while they were trying to stop Lucifer was like actively inviting him to ruin everything they were fighting for.

But the information also offered an easy answer to why Sam ignored Dean’s calls. “He is probably angry with you and ignoring you on purpose,” Castiel offered after getting a hold of his frustration with these two humans who constantly endangered that which he had sacrificed everything for.

Dean, however, shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that. No matter how pissed he was. It’s the way we grew up – he might hang up on me after I got barely two words out but only after he’s sure I’m not cursed or about to be mauled by a werewolf.” He ran a hand over his face and Castiel noticed how tired he looked. “When someone calls you even though you’re pissed at each other it probably means it’s important. You don’t ignore your family when they need you. Sam knows that.”

“You turned him down when he asked for help,” Castiel pointed out, immediately replacing Dean’s growing desperation with anger.

“ _He_ walked away from _us_ , and that was the first clever thing he’s done in ages! I thought he was finally trying not to be a bother, but no! The first sign of trouble and he comes crawling back so big brother can take care of it. I have enough problems of my own thanks to him. I’ve still got an apocalypse to prevent and pissy angels to fight off, and the least Sam can do to help is not get in the way and try to resist Satan for five fucking minutes!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean’s anger seemed to flow out of him and Castiel suspected they both thought the same thing.

It was him who said it. “Do you think he might already have said yes? Sam isn’t good at dealing with problems on his own. Consenting to Lucifer would offer the easiest way out, and the Devil is well known for his skills in temptation.”

“You underestimate Sam,” Dean snapped, though if to defend his brother or in order to calm his own fear Castiel might be right the angel couldn’t tell. “He hasn’t said yes. Not this quickly. In the future Zach showed me he lasted for three years on his own.” He bit his lips, drew back his shoulders and didn’t look at Castiel.

The angel said mercilessly, “Why doesn’t he answer your calls, then?” When Dean didn’t answer, he added more softly, “You are aware, of course, that the future Zachariah showed you was merely a potential one, manipulated so you would believe becoming Michael’s sword was the only option. Sam might already be gone.”

“Or he’ll never say yes at all,” Dean stubbornly insisted. But he didn’t look convinced, Castiel thought, and one minute later Dean called Bobby and asked if he had heard anything.

 

 

+

 

 

It was a news website on the internet that got them to Sam two days later. “There’s been a suicide in Oregon yesterday. Don’t think it’s Sam but the description sounds a little like him.” Dean spoke lightly and didn’t look away from the screen. “Maybe you should go check it out. Just to make sure, you know?”

“You don’t believe your brother would kill himself.” It’s more question than statement. Three months ago Castiel would not have taken Sam Winchester for one to take the easy way out; regardless of what he thought of his nature, the angel had to admit to a certain respect for how far the boy had been willing to go to save his brother from Hell, no matter the personal sacrifice. Even after accepting that getting Dean back was not possible, he chose a road to self-destruction that still aimed for justice, or at the very least for revenge. Sam was not one to simply lay down and die.

Now he wasn’t so sure. In the end Sam had done nothing but confirm what Castiel had initially thought of him, and yet the angel found himself… disappointed. It was the only word he could find that came close. Thinking of Sam and his failure made him feel strangely bad about himself, so he didn’t like thinking about Sam.

It wasn’t guilt he felt. Not for the part he played in making Sam break the last seal. Castiel had been indoctrinated to follow his orders for longer than this planet existed, and yet he managed to overcome them and think for himself in the end. He was falling, hunted, losing everything now, willingly, in order to help Dean fix this. He was atoning for his mistakes. Sam yet had to do the same.

Dean shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t. But he’s got a lot of enemies. Bobby told me a couple hunters…” He stopped, muttered something under his breath and continued, “Anyway, someone might have killed him and made it look like suicide.”

“I understand.” Castiel left for the place mentioned in the article without giving Dean a chance to say any more. He didn’t ask his friend if he wished to come along.

The man he found in the morgue was without a doubt Sam. Castiel looked down at the corpse, feeling unexpectedly unhappy. Dean would be devastated. He could have prevented this by not turning his brother away, and that knowledge might, at this point, be harder to bear than the loss. Despite everything, Castiel knows Dean still feels responsible for Sam.

He didn’t know what to feel about this himself. Sam wasn’t his friend like Dean was. His very nature made the angel uncomfortable and had caused him to mistrust the boy from the beginning. Perhaps things would have been different if Castiel had been willing to withhold his disdain until Sam had done something to deserve it, but Sam had vindicated him in the end and speculating about things not done were pointless. Sam had made his own decisions, and now he was gone. Since he was Lucifer’s vessel he was unlikely to stay dead, but if he did, things would be easier, even if it would cause Dean to beat himself up over yet another thing his brother did wrong.

Even so, the though of Sam not being around anymore was… odd. Castiel did not feel guilty, but maybe he felt some regret.

Sam’s body was naked, as expected. He had lost weight since Castiel had seen him last and even dead he looked exhausted. According to the article his throat had been slit, but Castiel could see no sign of the injury. Sam would come back, then. He acknowledged the fact.

It would probably be easier and less awkward for everyone if Sam revived in a different environment. Before Castiel could move to transport him away, though, the corpse on the table jerked once and drew in a deep breath.

Sam sat up, took a look at his surroundings, and muttered, “Shit.”

Only then did he notice the angel standing beside him. His face betrayed shock and something like guilt that Castiel couldn’t quite explain.

“Hello Sam,” he said. “Your brother wishes to see you.”

 

 

+

 

 

Castiel didn’t take Sam to Dean at once. First, he took him to a motel and found him some clothes to wear. Sam told him he had been attacked in an alley, didn’t see who did it. It was probably a lie but Castiel didn’t pry further. They both agreed that Dean shouldn’t be told about Sam’s most recent demise, then they collected Sam’s belongings and moved them to the motel room in which Castiel had left his friend.

The reunion of the brothers was tense, even though Castiel could see Dean was relieved to see Sam. The first thing he did, however, was complain about Sam not answering his calls. Apparently, it turned out, Sam had lost his cell phone and hadn’t gotten around to getting a new one. Dean was angry about that even though he had for all Sam knew intended to cut all ties forever. Sam seemed unsure how to react and they both kept their distance.

Castiel kept out of their conflict. He did approve of Sam being back with them, however, even though he never quite knew what to do with Dean’s younger brother, not only because of his nature or his faults. Fortunately, it was easy to keep their contact minimal and strictly limited to their mission. Sam never attempted to get close to Castiel, which the angel was glad about – though sometimes he thought of the awe Sam had been unable to hide during their first meeting and how his distance to Castiel showed better than anything else that he no longer believed.

 

 

+

 

 

It was harder keeping up is habit when he was with Dean. And Sam hated that he thought of it that way: his habit. As if he was some kind of junkie (again). As if he actually _enjoyed_ blasting his brains out, or chocking on his own blood. Dying was never fun. And it always hurt. And it always hurt to come back, with a splitting headache, a sore throat, his insides clenching and making him throw up for hours. But Sam needed it (like a junkie) because he couldn’t go without it. He couldn’t sleep because Lucifer was always waiting.

Once he overheard, through a closed door, Dean telling Cas how much he hated having to see Sam’s face again, and how much he wished it was just him and the angel again. Easier that way, and Cas was much more fun anyway, which was impressive since he wasn’t that much fun at all. Sam hated that things had gone so wrong between them that upon waking with his head on the desk and sleep in his eyes he couldn’t tell if that had been another dream or real.

Of course, Sam could have tried to tell Dean about Lucifer’s visits, about the dreams and how dying was better. But Dean had made clear beyond the hint of a doubt that he wasn’t interested in Sam’s personal problems. Not that Sam could blame him. So he went back to lying.

This time it was justified – what else was he supposed to do? He did realise that last time he thought the same; Dean didn’t want him using his powers even though it saved people and enabled him to kill Lilith, but without his powers he couldn’t do any good, so what choice did he have but to keep it from his brother? But this time was different. This time it was really just him, no one else was concerned. It wasn’t even any of Dean’s business. Sam just kept it from him because Dean would feel burdened by it, and probably tell him that eating a gun in order to avoid some bad dreams was pretty overdramatic. Since Dean still drank himself to sleep every night in the hope it would keep him from dreaming about Hell, Sam wouldn’t even have been able to deny it.

The rift between them worked to his advantage when it came to the secrecy required to get anything similar to rest. Dean wasn’t unhappy when Sam left for long stretches of time, hardly even noticed it when Cas was around. Sam didn’t even know if he bothered to listen to his excuses when he left yet again for a night in the library, a little solo-salt-and-burn or to interview a witness two towns over. Besides, it wasn’t like Sam did it every day; only when he was so tired he thought he’d die anyway or at least seriously fuck up when Dean needed him did he find himself a nice spot off the road and set himself on fire. Or drank acid. Or cling to a hand grenade if he had the time. Because he had discovered that the more damage he inflicted on his body, the long he was dead, which meant a longer time until he had to do it again.

It wasn’t like sleep, though. It didn’t leave him well rested, just in a general state of okay that seems to run out of him like water. Even though he hardly ever looked in a mirror anymore Sam knew he looked like shit, but Dean never cared or even noticed when he left for a made-up hunt in the middle of the night after three sleepless days looking like a ghost. He would have, before. And even though Sam knew he didn’t deserve Dean caring for him, having lost that really fucking hurt.

Every day.

The only thing Dean bitched about was the occasional lack of signal Sam claimed as the reason the two times Dean tried to call him and he couldn’t answer because he was dead.

It wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough. Sam had gotten through life from one death to the next, living off coffee and caffeine pills more than food for nearly two months before Dean thought that driving back to the Bobby HQ after two days of killing vampires without a break would be a good idea. He was still hyped up and running on adrenaline, but then, _he_ had gotten at least five hours of sleep in the last two days and Sam hadn’t. Dean told him to sleep in the car and Sam wondered if there was any way of decently killing himself, stay dead for a couple of hours and come back to life without Dean realising he had driven around with a corpse riding shotgun all night. Not likely.

So Sam stayed awake. He knew he couldn’t risk driving because he’d crash the car and kill them both, but if Dean knew he was awake he’d ask him to take over the wheel in three hours at the latest. So Sam faked being asleep, a penknife in his hand cutting his palm so the pain would keep him from drifting off for real. Any damage he inflicted on himself would be healed the next time Lucifer rebuilt him from pieces, so his only worry was not bleeding too obviously.

By that time he was so used to Dean not caring that the relief (almost) outweighed the hurt when his brother, dead tired after a night of driving, entirely failed to notice the blood on Sam’s clothes.

 

 

+

 

 

They didn’t do anything that day, too tired to think about saving the world. Dean went to the bedroom he used to share with Sam during longer stays ever since they were kids and let the door fall shut behind him, and Sam went upstairs, to the second story Bobby didn’t need anymore since the stairs had become an impassable barrier. He took a pillow and a blanket with him and chose a room that had never been used for more than storage for as long as he could remember. (Sam had always wondered if Bobby and Karen had intended to give it to children that were never born but didn’t ever ask.)

Before laying down he went to the toilet to empty his bladder and his bowls because that was a mess he could do without. Once in his room he sat between the boxes and drank the poison he’d started carrying around for days like this, just in case. It would kill him soundlessly and quickly and not leave any blood to clean up later. He would stay dead for about three or four hours – hopefully short enough that no one would try to wake him. In the end, he curled up on his side and pulled the blanket up to his nose so if Dean cast a brief glance into the room he wouldn’t immediately see that Sam wasn’t breathing. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the cramps to start.

Sam suffocated when his airways closed two minutes later and managed not to trash around too badly when the inevitable panic set in.

He woke up convulsing, filled with nameless terror. A scream tried to make its way past his lips and choked him when his throat closed up and refused to let it go. It seemed to take hours before Sam was able to control his flailing limbs and could reach up to dig his nails into his neck. He shot upright and was finally able to breathe, shaking and – as he realised with dull surprise – crying.

It was dark outside. No light fell in through the window and Sam felt the panic return to him – an irrational fear oft the dark he hadn’t felt since he was nine and his father had given him a gun to protect himself from the thing in his closet. Suddenly he was convinced that there was something behind him, beside him. Reaching for him. He could feel the memory of touches on his skin and instinctively curled in on himself as if that could protect him from the agony that waited for him.

It took a long time for Sam’s confused mind to accept that he was alone, that no one was hurting him. His heart was still beating wildly when he stumbled to his feet and out of the room, into the dark hallway. The house was utterly silent. Everyone was sleeping through his misery and Sam managed to be quiet as he entered the bathroom and flipped the switch beside the door, flooding the room with bright, sharp light that cut into his brain like knifes.

After washing his face with cold water he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: a pale face, with bloodshot eyes and not at all in any way remarkable for someone who hadn’t slept in weeks. Seconds later Sam clung to the toilet bowl and puked until his stomach could bring up nothing more, not even gall.

 

 

+

 

 

Since he couldn’t stand to be inside any longer, Sam quietly left the house and wandered listlessly through the scrap yard until the night was finally over. It was chilly, but he didn’t care. If he got a cold, it would be gone the next time he came back to life.

But it wasn’t just the cold air that made him shudder. For the first time since starting this, the thought of dying filled him not with apathy but with unspeakable dread. Even though he knew it had to be an echo of his panic when he died reaching over to his new life, he had a hard time shaking off the experience and it kept him outside until long after dawn.

When he got back inside, it was with the intention of talking to Dean. He couldn’t keep this up, couldn’t keep killing himself three times a week and pretend he was fine. Maybe there was another way of keeping Lucifer out of his dreams somehow, and if there was, Dean would find it.

At the very least, Dean would know what was going on and perhaps not ask too much of him when he had been going for three days straight and only had a rope to look forward to as evening entertainment.

He nearly laughed when he realised that apparently, for all his intentions, he hadn’t learned anything. He still expected big brother to come and make it all better.

Dean was awake and obviously had been awhile when Sam entered the kitchen. His brother was bent over a map on the kitchen table with Castiel beside him, so close that their shoulders were touching. They were talking quietly, probably so not to wake Bobby who must have still been asleep.

Dean looked up when he noticed his brother. “Where are you coming from?” he asked. “I thought you were asleep.” It sounded like an accusation and Sam knew nothing he could say would convince Dean he wasn’t out to find a demon to drain or fuck or both.

“I needed some air,” he said lamely. “Couldn’t sleep.” He tried not to shift nervously and look even more guilty before his brother who looked at him with a frown and Castiel who just looked at him.

“Everything alright?” There was a hint of the old concern in Dean’s voice, barely enough to stir a memory that hurt. “I thought I heard you tonight.”

 _‘I need to talk to you,’_ Sam wanted to say. Or maybe, _‘I need your help.’_ But he only shrugged. “Nightmare.”

Dean made a sound that sounded like a short and turned back to the map on the table. He obviously wasn’t impressed, which in the face of his own nightmares was quite understandable. Castiel, too, looked down at the same time, moving in perfect sync. They continued their quiet conversation, only this time it was even quieter as if it was Sam they didn’t want to hear them. They spoke in few words, already understanding each other, and Sam noticed how relaxed Dean looked standing beside his friend. He hadn’t seen his brother this as ease in a long time.

“So, what’s up with the map?” he asked. “That what Bobby called us for?”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing big. Probably a black dog, not two hours from here. With luck we’ll be back for dinner.”

“Great.” Maybe a quick, easy hunt without apocalyptic connections was just what they needed to get back to themselves, rebuilt some trust. “When do we leave?”

Dean hesitated with the answer and Sam felt his stomach sink even before Castiel opened his mouth to say smoothly, “Dean and I will leave after breakfast. You need not concern yourself with this matter.”

Sam stared at him, still trying to come up with a reply that wasn’t emotional when Dean said, somewhat awkwardly, “Cas is right. This is a two man job. Why don’t you grab a few more hours of sleep? You look like shit.”

Sam wanted to scream at him that he didn’t want to sleep, that he _couldn’t_ sleep. That he wanted his brother to save him or at least not leave him behind. He stared at Castiel and asked, “What are you even doing here? I thought you were busy with the apocalypse.”

Castiel looked back blankly. “I came to help,” he said. Then he added, as if he thought he needed to give additional explanation, “Dean called me.”

Sam nearly said ‘Oh,’ except that his throat refused to create any kind of sound. He turned away under the pretence of getting a cup of coffee, managing, “Yeah, it does come in handy, just flying from one place to the next. Saves time.”

“Um, we’ll still take the car,” Dean’s voice sounded from behind him. “Cas is a little out of angel-juice. Better to save what he has for when we really need it.”

“I see,” Sam whispered, but it was so quiet they probably didn’t hear him. He scalded his throat when he drowned his coffee too quickly. Somewhere behind his back, Dean asked him if he would join them for breakfast but he sounded distracted, his mind already on the case. Sam didn’t bother with a reply.

When he turned, Castiel was still watching him with this look of confused disapproval on his face and for a second it was so very hard not to hate him. For taking away the faith Sam had clung to all his life and any hope his soul might be saved in one swift strike, and now his brother, too. Sam felt resentment run over him like a wave, but as soon as it came it disappeared, leaving only shame in its wake. Sam had given away his place at Dean’s side all on his own; he couldn’t blame the angel for filling the gab and giving his brother what he needed.

Without a word, Sam left the kitchen the way he came and hung out between the discarded cars until he heard the impala pull off the yard half an hour later.

 

 

+

 

 

The road passed by beneath their vehicle, steadily and so very slow. Castiel looked at it and felt the Earth move faster then them. The lack of air was irritating but Dean had snapped at him when he opened the window because the noise of the wind streaming past made it hard to make out the music blasting out of the speakers.

The angel understood that Dean was very fond of this car but he still found it confining, dirty, and loud. The thought that he might have to get used to travelling this way failed to invite any kind of enthusiasm.

“Sam seemed upset,” he said half an hour into the drive.

Dean snorted. “It’s Sam. He’s always upset. He was upset when he got _born_.”

“I believe most infants find the act of being born rather unpleasant.” Castiel had seen many births but not one child that came into this world with laughing. He’d often wondered if there was something wrong with that when being alive was the greatest gift his father bestowed on his favourite creations.

“Don’t take everything so fucking literal,” Dean said impatiently. “You know what I mean.” Castiel didn’t reply and after a minute Dean asked, equally harshly, “You’d rather we taken him along?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Why _not_?” Dean exploded. “We’re going after a demon’s nest! It’s like throwing a stack of heroin at a junkie!”

“He hasn’t shown any desire for demon blood since Lucifer was raised from his cage.” Since he had suffered through near-fatal withdrawal only to be released by Castiel when the need was strongest. When it was nearly over and the world nearly saved. Castiel didn’t think this absolved Sam of any guilt because the decision had still been his own, but he could no longer pretend Sam was the only one who should carry all the blame.

Sam was merely the only one who showed any awareness of his responsibility. Castiel, for his part, was aware that he was not living up to the example himself, but at the present time he considered it a mistake to reveal his own part in the disaster. Dean was unable to trust Sam and if he lost trust in Castiel as well, it was hard to tell when he would break under the strain.

“Well, you weren’t there,” Dean now said darkly. “It’s the reason he left in the first place. Because he didn’t trust himself. Believe me, we’re doing him a favour.” Then he turned up the volume of his music and Castiel understood that the conversation was over. Dean didn’t like to discuss his brother, or even think about him.

His brother who had broken the last seal and thereby completed what Dean had started when he broke the first.

 

 

+

 

 

Taking care of the nest took longer than anticipated. Dean and Castiel finished the hunt in the middle of the night with Dean so exhausted he needed a few hours of sleep before driving back to Sioux Falls. They found Sam in the kitchen, sitting hunched over a stack of newspapers. He barely spoke beyond telling them he thought he might have found something to do with the apocalyptic horsemen over in Kentucky and would tell them as soon as he knew what exactly they were dealing with. He was pale, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. Castiel’s ears picked up a faint rattle in his breathing and it was obvious that he hadn’t slept, but since he did not seem to appreciate the company, Castiel left him without a comment and followed Dean out into the yard, where Bobby was sitting in his wheelchair, staring darkly at the cars.

They left for Kentucky just before noon the next day. By that time Sam was coughing constantly and his cheeks were flushed with fever in an otherwise white face. Castiel sat in the backseat and listened to his congested breathing, regretting the fact that he no longer had the power to heal.

Neither of them talked much. Dean had his music running and Sam had packed a bunch of old books he kept on his knees. Every now and then he took notes in a journal he had ready beside him. He’d also packed a large can of coffee, which had caused Dean to raise his eyebrows and tell him to “just fucking sleep in the car, the ride is long enough”. When Sam hadn’t answered, Dean had growled, “Just so you know, I’m not gonna stop every five minutes so you can pee,” and dropped the topic.

As the hours passed, Sam took less and less notes and the frequency of his turning the pages slowed considerably. About an hour before sunset his head sank against the window and the pen slipped from his fingers.

Dean glanced at him and reached over to take the book off his brother’s lap, something like a smile easing the frown that seemed to be permanently etched into this features.

Not two hours later Sam woke with a gasp and flailing limps, finding the door handle before Dean could reach for him. The older brother stepped on the brakes but didn’t manage to stop the car completely before Sam threw himself outside. Castiel left vehicle before him and without taking the door to find Sam kneeling on the ground with bloody palms and holes in his clothes, retching helplessly but bringing up nothing.

Dean was with them three seconds later, the car’s engine still running, its headlights, despite facing the other direction, providing some illumination. Castiel expected him to yell at his brother for jumping out of the car, but he only took hold of Sam’s shoulders, asking, “What’s wrong, Sammy? What happened? Are you hurt?” He reached for Sam’s bloody hands but Sam yanked them away before pushing Dean so hard he fell over.

“Leave me alone!” he yelled. “I know you’re not him!”

With that he jumped to his feet and started running. Knowing he shouldn’t let him get away, Castiel flew a short distance until he reappeared right in Sam’s path and quickly pressed a hand to his forehead. Without a sound, Sam collapsed into his arms.

He’d grown thin while they weren’t looking.

Dean watched, pale and helpless, as Castiel carried his brother over to the car and placed him onto the backseat. “He will sleep until morning,” the angel said, nothing in his voice betraying the concern and confusion he felt himself.

 

 

+

 

 

As predicted, Sam slept on until morning. They turned in at a motel an hour after Castiel had shut off his consciousness and Dean carried him to the room, put him to bed and partially undressed him to have a look at the superficial wounds Sam inflicted on himself through contact with the asphalt. He refused sleep for a long time, constantly checking his brother for fever and signs of nightmares, not understanding that this wasn’t the kind of sleep that allowed dreams. Just before dawn, Dean drifted into a restless sleep, leaving Castiel to watch over them both.

Mimicking Dean’s actions, he placed a hand over Sam’s forehead and found his temperature higher than it should be but within tolerable levels. Then he tentatively touched Sam’s mind and frowned.

He should have been able to sense Sam’s mind deep in sleep, apply some soothing touches if needed. Instead, he found it completely blocked off, as if something occupied it completely and prevented any kind of outside influence.

It could not be Sam himself doing this, so it had to be something else. Something powerful enough to block off an angel. Considering what Sam had told Dean about how Lucifer had revealed himself to him, that left only one explanation.

Castiel’s frown deepened. Regardless, he did not wake Sam up. The boy was sick and exhausted. He needed the sleep and Castiel did not believe that Lucifer would be able to trick or torture Sam into giving his consent in a dream. Despite his obvious faults, Sam had proven remarkably resilient to anything he did not agree with.

And it was obvious that he did not agree with the end of the world.

So Castiel let him sleep until his body was ready to wake. When he did wake up it happened with a quiet whimper. Instead of rising from the bed, Sam turned to his side, curled up and hid his head between his arms, his back to the room. Knowing he had acted in the only way that made sense and not seeing a reason to discuss Lucifer’s invasion as Sam had obviously not given in, Castiel left him alone.

When Sam finally unfurled and faced the world, Castiel could see his disorientation and confusion at being in a motel. He probably did not even remember the incident that ended with the angel pulling him to sleep, but didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t speak at all, only threw a long glance at his still sleeping brother, acknowledged Castiel’s presence with a nod and went to make coffee with the old machine in a corner of the room and a half-finished bag he found in his duffle.

The smell work Dean ten minutes later, but he, too, didn’t speak upon waking. Not, at least, until he had drowned his first cup. Then he folded his hands on the table, looked at his brother and said, “So.”

Sam blinked at him. His eyes were slightly glassy, probably due to the fever. “So?”

“What was that about?”

Sam looked even more perplexed. “What?”

“You freaked out and took a dive to the pavement.”

This time Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared. Eventually he asked, “I did what?” Then, suddenly, he lifted his hands and looked at the raw flesh of his palms as if noticing it for the first time.

“Just a bad dream,” he said lamely.

“A bad dream,” Dean repeated flatly. His face darkened. “You often have dreams that make you jump out of moving cars?”

Sam hunched even further at the sharp undertone in his brother’s voice. Castiel understood, on a purely informational level, that this was normal; in the face of their strained relationship Dean didn’t know how to deal with his emotions concerning his brother and concern turned to irritation and anger in a matter of seconds if Sam didn’t act exactly as Dean thought he should.

In this case, the angel wasn’t quite sure what Dean thought his brother should do.

“I’m sorry,” Sam muttered.

“You’re sorry. Well, that’s nice. You freaked me out there, Sam! You could have fucking died and you’re sorry? Is it really too much to expect at least an explanation?”

“It was a bad dream,” Sam said, his own voice getting notably harsher. “What else am I supposed to say? I don’t even remember it!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Dean was openly angry now, which seemed somewhat unjustified to Castiel. However, he also found that is friend was allowed a strong reaction when there was reason to believe that Sam was lying to them again. “You jumped out of the fucking car and didn’t recognize me, damn it! What is it you’re not telling me? Dreams like that stick with you, so don’t pretend you don’t remember!”

“Like you didn’t remember Hell?” Sam snapped back, then immediately fell silent. Castiel could see that he regretted the words the moment he said them, but it was too late.

With two long strides Dean walked over to his brother, pulled him up off the chair and hissed, “You don’t use that against me, asshole! Or have you forgotten who I went to Hell for in the first place? And how you thanked me?”

“Dean,” Castiel found himself saying. “I believe that is enough.”

“You keep out of this, Cas!” Dean snapped without looking at him. He shoved Sam back into the chair that would have fallen over hadn’t Castiel stepped in and stopped it, then he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep, shaking breath full of barely controlled rage. “Pack up,” he ordered. “We leave in five.” With that he left the room and slammed the door behind him. Sam stood without a word and went to pack their stuff.

 

 

+

 

 

Sam’s cough and fever got worse during the next day. He didn’t sleep again the rest of the way to Kentucky, taking over the wheel when Dean stopped and traded places with Castiel to stretch out on the back seat. Dean only exchanged a few words with the angel and didn’t even once look directly at his brother.

If he had, he might have seen how sick Sam had gotten. Castiel was beginning to think he wouldn’t be up to the job that waited from them at their destination, but he needn’t have worried. Once in Kentucky, Dean crashed at a motel and Sam left to have a look at the local libraries. He returned in the evening, looking less tired if not at all less haunted. The time he spent on his own appeared to have cured his sickness and healed the injuries from his fall onto the street two days before. Only the holes in his clothes remained.

 

+

 

 

The one good thing about a Dean who was pissed at Sam was that he resulted in a Dean who didn’t pay attention to Sam. Or maybe just didn’t care. Either way, he left for a bar that first evening they came to Kentucky, right after Sam had returned from the library, and if he noticed the considerable improvement of his brother’s sate, he didn’t comment on it. It was so obvious this time that Sam thought he _had_ to notice, but he never quite found out how to drop “By the way, didn’t you realise I was dead recently or did you just ignore it?” into the conversation.

Partially because there weren’t any conversations between them that didn’t involve the job or the ever recurring topic of ending the world. Mostly, though, because Sam didn’t actually _want_ his brother to notice, so who was he to complain when he didn’t?

Dean did, however, notice when Sam fucked up because he was too tired to concentrate on the hunt. Boy, did he notice!

The thing in Kentucky had been mostly over for a week when they arrived. Sam and Dean collected their clues and moved on two cities because there was a hunt there while Castiel took their clues and moved on to wherever to see if he could do something with them. The hunt took three days because the damn ghost not only proved immune to torching but also latched on to Dean and kept randomly popping up trying to strangle him. It would still have been harmless enough, in comparison, if Sam hadn’t missed a shot during the grand finale because his arms felt like jelly and his hands trembled too much to hold the shotgun steady.

So Dean ended up with strangulation makes on his neck and a face red with anger as he yelled at Sam for being an irresponsible asshole who really, really should fucking know better by now than to get into a hunt dead tired because he spend the time wallowing in self pity or whatever it was he did all day instead of sleeping. He was right, too – Sam did know better, and he should have reset his exhaustion standard. But the last time he had killed himself he had come back to life with the same sensation of horror and half-remembered agony and he couldn’t do that again. Hadn’t dared to. Didn’t want to do it any more often than he absolutely had to, so he’d tried to postpone the inevitable for another day and then another. At least until the hunt was over.

That didn’t change that what he had done was unforgivable and could have gotten Dean killed. The fact that Sam probably would have come back to life as well did nothing to lessen the guilt.

So that night, after Dean had basically shoved him into bed and ordered him to “get some fucking sleep” before leaving to drink his anger away at the nearest bar, Sam drank a glass of toilet cleaner and laid in bed, pretty certain his brother would be too drunk to notice anything should he indeed stumble back in before Sam was alive.

He managed to keep his unpleasant death mostly silent.

When he came to life, gasping, crying and shaking with horror he couldn’t put a name to, it was to Castiel standing beside his bed, looking down with an unreadable expression on his face.

“We should talk about this,” the angel said.


	3. Chapter 2

Sam stared at the angel through wide, shocked eyes. “Cas,” he said, his voice unexpectedly thin. He seemed to sink into himself and looked away as if in shame. A moment later he stood on shaky legs and stumbled over to the bathroom where he started retching. Castiel waited patiently until he was done vomiting and had washed his face. He still looked pale and shaken when he retuned to the room.

“You are doing this to avoid being confronted by Lucifer when you are asleep,” Castiel told him what he had observed. It was clear enough: Sam did this regularly, and he was too intelligent to believe if he killed himself often enough he would one day remain dead. Lucifer had free access to his mind and he was not kind. It fit Sam’s pattern of behaviour to follow this clear course of action to both keep out Lucifer and keep his body at a functional level, free of exhaustion, injury and illness – regardless how hard the strain on his mind.

After all, seeing that in order to kill Lilith and thus avenge his brother and stop the apocalypse, he had to consume demon blood and hone his own demonic abilities he had done just that, in full knowledge that it would kill him and damn his soul. Sam Winchester was nothing if not pragmatic.

Now, Sam stared at him, his eyes unnaturally bright. “How long have you known?” he asked weakly.

“Since I came here and found your dead body,” Castiel explained. “I have suspected it for few weeks, though.”

Sam looked around and seemed relieved when he found the room still empty but for them. “Dean doesn’t know,” the angel said, guessing what it was Sam worried about, and Sam confirmed it with his next, whispered words.

“Don’t tell him.”

“We need not burden him with this,” Castiel agreed. “It would be better, however, if you stopped.”

Sam looked pained. “I can’t.”

Cadtiel already knew that Sam wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think he had to. “Lucifer. Does he hurt you?”

Sam shook his head. “Not really. Not like… No. No, he doesn’t.”

It didn’t sound convincing. “Then why do you prefer to die?”

“Because…” Sam’s voice trailed off. “I just don’t want to meet him. What do you even care?”

The question perplexed Castiel. They were fighting side by side. He considered Dean his friend, and by association Sam as well. Were they not supposed to care for each other?

“I want to help you,” he offered. “I can make you sleep.” But Sam shuddered and actually flinched away from him even though Castiel hadn’t moved.

“Don’t,” he said. “When you did last time… Well. He’s still coming. And I can’t wake up. I hadn’t slept that long in ages.”

“That was the idea.”

Sam shuddered again. “Just don’t okay? I can handle this on my own.”

“I might be mistaken, but I believe committing suicide is not commonly considered “handling” anything. And you’re not…” Castiel reached out but Sam took a step back so the angel lowered his hands, feeling like he was dealing with a small, frightened animal. “You are getting worse, Sam. You look sick right after coming to life. That shouldn’t happen. Surely this isn’t a perfect solution.”

To his surprise. Sam didn’t even try to argue. He sat down on the edge of the bed instead, ran his hands over his face and said quietly, “I think I’m going to Hell, Cas.”

Now it was the angel who flinched. “Why do you say that? Do you… do you remember what happens to your soul?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Not really. But I wake up and I think I do. I don’t know how to explain it. But I remember _something_. And it certainly isn’t Heaven.”

Castiel’s thoughts moved frantically. Despite the guilt Sam shouldered, him going to Hell was highly unlikely. He had been purged of the demon blood he consumed and his intentions had at no point been worthy of damnation.

A sinking feeling came over him when he accepted the only possible alternative. But he did not voice his thoughts. “Still, you prefer it to your dreams?”

“Yes. I just… I don’t know what I’ll do if I keep having those dreams. I might give in. You know me – I’m not so good with resisting temptation.”

“You give too little credit to yourself.” The words came unbidden and left Castiel’s tongue easily, though he never imagined he would say them to Sam Winchester. “Still, if you fear him so much, I can help you. I can keep him away.”

At that, Sam finally looked up. “You can?” he asked in a small voice.

Castiel felt compelled to smile at him. He didn’t. “Yes. I can. Come to me the next time you need rest.”

Sam nodded slowly and in his eyes there was a question Castiel couldn’t read. Not until Sam put it into words. “Is this really you?”

It was confusing, seemed random. “Why do you ask that?”

“You’re kind,” was the simple explanation.

It made sense after that. It also explained Sam’s refusal to believe Dean to be real, that time by the side of the road when he showed open concern for his brother and tried to calm him down.

The realisation filled Castiel with infinite sadness. “It is me,” he promised, aware that Sam might not believe him. He sensed Dean nearing the motel and was almost grateful for the distraction. “Your brother is returning. He is drunk. Make sure he gets to sleep. And call me on my phone when you need rest yourself.” Before Sam could reply, Castiel had flown to Texas. It felt like running away.

 

 

+

 

 

Despite Castiel’s promise to help, Sam continued to avoid sleep as long as he could. The angel was busy, after all – he might not be there when Sam had to give in. And the thought of dying terrified Sam more than it probably should. Going to Hell wasn’t undeserved, after all. And he had known he was headed there before, had actively and consciously condemned himself with the demon blood and the dark powers. He’d known and deemed it an acceptable sacrifice in order to stop Lilith from breaking the final seal.

And before… before, when Dean was gone and all Sam could think about was revenge (justice, a half-dead part of him that still wanted to believe in himself whispered and was ignored) he even welcomed the thought. He might have met Dean again down there – maybe even found a way to help his brother get out. And even if he didn’t, at the very least he didn’t deserve to end up anywhere better than Dean.

It made his terror now all the more pathetic. At least Sam was spared the memories of what happened to him when he died. Dean was not given any such mercy. He had to remember, all the time, all of forty years. And he had gone to Hell for a selfless act. Sam brought this on himself.

So he really was the last person who had a right to complain. With being to blame for the apocalypse, he’d always known where he was headed anyway. He’d known, in fact, when he first put the gun into his own mouth. (And now he wondered why he hadn’t suffered any after effects the first few times. Maybe there was a block on his memories that was worn thin by the repetition, which meant it would only get worse.)

In a way it almost felt like cheating to let Cas help him. Sam shouldn’t even bother him with this, just accept it as the punishment he deserved. But the same reason why Cas wanted to help in the first place also offered an excuse for Sam to let him: the state he was in – constantly tired, worn and increasingly weak – he was no help for anyone, and they needed him not to be a burden. Sam wanted to be useful, even though Dean and Cas were able to do just fine without him.

He’d be going to Hell, and stay there, soon enough anyway.

He tried to accept that, but it was harder than ever. The mere residual terror he felt when coming back was enough to freak him out completely. The things he didn’t remember scared him beyond belief. So he kept pushing himself when he knew he shouldn’t. He’d even considered sleeping again, until he fell asleep in the car and was painfully reminded why he didn’t.

After the meeting with Castiel he managed to keep going for another two days on coffee and caffeine pills. The more tired he got the more his phone seemed to mock him. Sam picked it up three times the last day and always put it away again. He couldn’t bring himself to actively ask for help. Not from Castiel’s. The angel who despised him, merely tolerated his presence. Who’d listened to Sam’s prayers and shook his head at the fact that the “Boy with the demon blood” believed himself worthy of the attention of angels.

Sam didn’t hate Castiel. He understood, even. And a part of him still put the angel on a pedestal as the embodiment of everything he believed to be good and pure. Yes, the angels as a whole didn’t live up to the expectations, but this one came around, took a side and proved himself to be better than the others. In a way he was the only thing Sam would still believe in if his faith had any value.

But that made taking the time of someone he might have worshipped all the harder, knowing that said someone despised him and could barely stand his presence.

In the end it was Cas who brought it up. He just returned to Dean’s side after being absent for a while and Sam kept lurking in the background, trying to bring himself to ask the angel for help. Finally, Castiel looked at him and said, “You should rest.”

Dean had left ten minutes before to interview a witness on something that might have been Lucifer but probably was just a murderous asshole with a skin condition. Now was as good a time as any, so Sam nodded and followed Cas’ order to lie on the bed and close his eyes.

“I will stay with you and shield your mind,” he explained. “Lucifer cannot touch you.”

Sam only nodded again, too tired to think of something to say. He felt the angel’s rough palm on his forehead and couldn’t keep himself form instinctively leaning into the first gentle touch he’d felt in a very long time.

 

 

+

 

 

He woke what felt like a very long time later. His limps were still heavy from sleep and his mind drowsy, but gradually, Sam realised that he had slept deeply and dreamlessly for the first time in ages. For a long time he simply lay there and relished in the feeling of not being crushingly tired.

He could never express his gratitude for what Castiel had done for him. If the angel had been serious about keeping this up and Sam could sleep peacefully from now on… maybe all the time until Lucifer was gone and his dreams no longer haunted. Sam would not have to return to Hell for regular visits anymore.

The relief almost made him cry and he pushed away every thought that eventually he would have to return there after all. (The thought of the things his memory kept from him filled him with nameless fear even now.)

The ring of his cell phone penetrated the comfortable haze he lingered in, as well as the darkness lurking beneath. Sam felt around for the noise until he found the phone beside his pillow, which was odd because he didn’t put it there. It must have been Castiel. The angel was gone. He had probably moved the phone so Sam would wake up if they tried to reach him.

Which meant Cas was probably with Dean. With a sinking feeling, Sam wondered if something had come up at Dean’s interview after all.

It was Dean calling. Sam accepted and put the phone to his ear. “What is it?” he asked.

“Gracious of you to finally pull your ass out of bed.” The connection was bad, but Sam could hear the sneer in his brother’s voice. “We need you here, dammit! Why did you ignore my calls?”

“You called before?” Sam asked confused, even as he jumped off the bed and hurried to fetch his jacket and weapons. It wasn’t like him not to hear a ringing phone. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“What, you kicked in some pills?” If possible, Dean sounded even more pissed. “I can’t believe it! Only you would pull something like that while we’re on a hunt!”

The accusation was unfair – Sam had never slacked on a hunt before, but he also knew Dean wasn’t out for a discussion. So he swallowed his hurt and asked, “Where are you?”

“Library. Come _now_ , not after you’ve taken a shower and had breakfast.” With that, Dean hung up, just as Sam was storming out of the motel. The early-morning sunlight was almost blinding at first. When Cas had made him sleep it had been evening.

Fortunately, there was no one around to see him hijack the first car he found, but even if there had been, Sam wouldn’t have cared. Dean had sounded pissed off, but also nervous, urgent. He was in trouble.

Couldn’t Cas help him until Sam got there? Was the angel even with him?

At least the library wasn’t hard to find. Ignoring speed limits, Sam made it there in less than five minutes. Running up the stairs he noticed that the building was still closed, yet he found the doors unlocked.

The sound of gunfire greeted him seconds after he stepped inside. Sam drew his own gun and broke into a run, letting the noise lead him.

Long before he found the source, Sam noticed the stench. It was disgusting, a mix of feces, ammoniac and wet fur that nearly made him gag. He found Dean in the reading hall, surrounded by… Sam didn’t even know what they were. Large, shimmering things that looked like insects: their legs too many joints, feet that made clicking noises on the hard ground a they moved. Dean was fighting them valiantly, but he was hopelessly outnumbered. About a dozen of the creatures were already lying on the floor around them, dead or twitching helplessly with the final signs of life, but ten more were coming at Sam’s brother who was already bleeding from several cuts, his clothes torn.

His face was grim in the way it was when he knew he might not make it out alive, and there was a good chance he would not. Just as Sam entered the hall another of the creatures jumped at Dean from behind and he didn’t see it.

Sam’s shot rang through the hall unnaturally loud, seeming to banish all other noise. The creature was hit square in its large insect eye and fell back with a shriek. It twitched once and fell still.

Dean turned around in surprise, noticed his would-be killer and then Sam. The grin he gave him was surprised and happy, like the old Dean had grinned when Sam came to his rescue; the Dean who still loved him and relied on him. It only lasted a second before Dean turned his attention back to his enemies, but that second gave Sam hope like nothing had in a very long time.

As Dean resumed fire, so did he. Soon there were only five monsters left, then three. Dean killed one more before he ran out of ammunition.

So he stepped out of the line of fire and calmly moved to reload his gun, trusting Sam to watch his back.

And Sam did. Until a pair of scaled, long fingered hands reached out from the shadows behind Dean.

Sam cried a warning, but Dean was too slow, his gun not loaded yet. He was grabbed from behind and Sam fired just the moment the creature pulled Dean close to its body.

It was too dim to make out details, but Sam saw his brother’s body jerk and go limp. He fired once more and this time the creature fell, but so did Dean.

Sam was at his side a second later. He didn’t care if there were more monsters lurking in this shadows, he just wanted to get to his brother.

There was so much blood. Sam had hit Dean in the chest – he had hit him in the chest because he had aimed badly, had not anticipated the creature’s move, and how Dean was staring at him with blood running over his chest.

He tried to talk, but all he produced was a gurgle.

Sam’s hands were shaking as he fought to keep the panic in check. “Don’t talk,” he said, pressing his hands to the wound. But Dean kept staring at him and his eyes were full of angry disappointment, right until they closed.

 

 

+

 

 

Two hours later, Sam sat on the hard plastic chair of a hospital waiting room. He didn’t move, just kept staring right ahead without seeing anything. Waiting for the world to come to an end, or keep turning.

He hardly dared to breathe, filled with the irrational fear that any wrong movement would push the scales in favour of the end.

The first thing he did after Dean passed out was call Castiel, but the damn angel hadn’t answered. Too busy doing whatever to come and save his friend’s life. So Sam had called an ambulance, while the monsters around them started melting away, increasing the stench even more. When the medical team arrived they found Sam desperately pressing his shirt to Dean’s wound, surrounded by stinking puddles of slime.

He was sure the stench would never come off.

It only took a minute for everyone to recognize the lost cause. They rushed Dean to the hospital out of duty but without hope.

Sam kept calling Cas. And finally, Cas answered.

He was standing in the corridor of the hospital when Sam arrived and told him to wait. He would take care of this.

Sam could have kissed him. He would have done anything, and nothing would have been able to express his gratitude and relief. Dean would live. It didn’t matter if he thought Sam was an even worse fuck-up than before. All that mattered right now what that Cas would save him.

But Cas didn’t come back. He was gone thirty minutes, then an hour, and there was no word from him. No sign of Dean. Sam knew Castiel’s powers were fading, remembered that he hadn’t been able to heal Bobby. But this was _Dean_ and Cas loved him as much as he was able to love a human being. He wouldn’t let him go. Sam knew he wouldn’t.

And even if he couldn’t save him, Dean was still Michael’s vessel. The archangel would revive him the same way Lucifer kept reviving Sam. After all the trouble they went through for him, Heaven wouldn’t let Dean die like this.

Sam knew that. So why did he still feel like the world had already ended?

If only Castiel would finally come back. Sam kept wishing for the angel to appear until he did. For once, he didn’t flutter in on invisible wings but walked through the door with hanging shoulders and a sunken-in face.

“Dean is gone,” he said.

Sam couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak, but his mind was full of denial. He shook his head.

“I couldn’t revive him,” the angel admitted, his voice flat.

“But Michael…” Sam managed.

“Those creatures were sent by Hell with the aim of blocking Michael’s access to his vessel. They were created for the sole purpose of killing Dean and making sure he could not be revived.”

“But they didn’t kill Dean,” Sam said helplessly. This couldn’t be true. It was simply not possible.

After everything it was too sudden, too random to have really happened.

“No, they didn’t,” Castiel agreed, his voice suddenly hard. “You did.” He didn’t wait for Sam to come up with an excuse that couldn’t possibly exist but went on, mercilessly. “One touch by them was enough to poison his soul. Your brother is in Hell now – far beyond any angel’s reach!”

Sam shook his head again. Castiel had to be wrong. He couldn’t accept it.

He had to get to his brother. There had to be _something_ he could do!

But he never even made it to the door. Suddenly Castiel was right beside him, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s throat and pushing him back until his back hit the wall. “Don’t you understand? I could have lifted the curse if Dean had survived. Now there’s nothing I can do. Dean is in Hell and it’s your fault again!”

He let go of Sam’s throat in favour of punching him in the stomach. It felt like being hit by a hammer, the scrawny frame of Jimmy Novak containing a power no human being could hope to comprehend.

Sam crumbled to the floor. He heard the angel say something about the time he wasted helping Sam sleep, how he should have gone with Dean instead, and made no move to defend himself as kicks and blows kept raining on him, snapping his bones.

Sam understood. He felt like breaking something, too.

 

 

+

 

 

When he woke up, Sam seemed to be drifting through nothing. He floated just beneath the surface, not remembering anything, not _knowing_ anything but that he feared what was waiting for him when he returned to the world.

Eventually, the mist moved away and Sam found himself in his bed in the motel. A part of him was wasted on wondering how he got here – the only part that wasn’t paralyzed by the realisation that Dean was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

Not ever.

Because Sam had killed him.

For the longest time, Sam just lay there. He could hardly breathe but it didn’t seem worth the effort to wince. The pain from the beating Cas had inflicted on him was noted and deemed unimportant.

Eventually, he had to roll over and throw up over the side of the bed. The vomit (acid produced by a stomach that was constantly empty) was stained red with blood and Sam stared at it numbly, remembering Dean’s blood all over his hands.

There was movement beside him and Sam blinked and saw Castiel. The angel could have been there all along and he wouldn’t have known. He still didn’t care.

Castiel looked at him sadly, full of regret. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“’s okay,” Sam slurred. “Neither did I.”

It hurt, but he managed to sit up. Once he accomplished that, Sam remained sitting on the edge of the bed. There was nothing for him to do. Nowhere to go.

Castiel hovered behind him, maybe just as lost. Sam wished he would go, but at the same time, he didn’t care.

Then the door opened.

 

 

+

 

 

As was his habit, Dean entered the room without announcing his appearance. Yet, he constantly complained about Castiel doing the same. It was one of the contradictions the angel was beginning to get used to, though sometimes it annoyed him because he felt he was supposed to understand something that simply made no sense at all and being blamed for not being able to.

In this case, Dean was excused, as he could not know Castiel would be present and had to assume Sam was asleep. The older brother was smelling of alcohol, indicating he had spend the night in a local bar. Castiel had expected as much when his friend didn’t return after the presumably fruitless interview last evening. Dean preferred to go to sleep drunk.

The angel knew this had not been the case before he went to Hell.

Now he came back in the early hours of the morning, after Sam had gotten hours of sleep that Castiel knew weren’t restful at all. He came in and stopped, surprised by Sam being up and Castiel being there. Sam, on the bed, made a sound like a wounded animal.

“What’s going on, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice only a little slurred. “Did something come up? If so, it would have been great to warn me before I got drunk.”

Castiel would have liked to tell him that the apocalypse didn’t happen on his schedule, but Sam distracted him when he left the bed and pulled his brother into a tight hug.

Dean looked confused for a moment. He automatically lifted his hands to pat his brother’s back. Once he overcame his initial surprise, however, he took hold of Sam’s shoulders instead and pushed him away. Sam didn’t seem to want to let go so Dean used more force – too much, maybe more than he would have used if he was sober. Castiel moved to catch Sam before he could fall over, noting again how much weight he had lost in the past weeks.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean snapped. He glared at his brother, then took a second look and added, “Are you fucking _crying_?”

Sam got himself upright with jerky motions and wiped away his eyes. ”No,” he said in a small voice. Then, unexpectedly, a pained smile appeared on his face. “It was a dream,” he whispered.

“Listen.” Dean took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. “I’m fine, okay? And drunk. And tired. So calm down and go take a shower or whatever. We can talk in the morning.”

“It is morning,” Castiel pointed out. But Dean only glared at him and went to fall face-first on the bed. He turned his face to the side, wrinkled his nose and made a disgusted noise. “Dude, did you throw up? No wonder you’re getting emo on me if you got wasted.”

“I will take care of it,” Castiel said when Sam moved to clean up the mess. He gently pushed the boy towards the door before making the vomit disappear. (His grace was still good enough for that.)

He did notice the blood. It was very concerning – Sam was malnourished and extremely stressed, but he hadn’t been injured or ill when Castiel made him sleep.

He found the boy outside a minute later, sitting on the hood of the Impala. For all the sleep he had gotten, he didn’t look any less pale and exhausted. When he noticed Castiel’s presence, he hastily wiped his face.

“So it didn’t work?” Sam asked. “Or was that just a normal dream?”

“It didn’t work,” Castiel confirmed what he’d though was obvious. “What did you dream about?”

Sam shook his heard. “Doesn’t matter. Never mind.” His voice was still trembling, though, and it was obvious his dream was affecting him deeply. Castiel thought about asking, but he had learned from Dean that humans preferred not to talk about things like that so he pretended not to notice.

“I will try again tonight,” he promised.

Sam let out a helpless laugh. “No offense, Cas. I’m grateful you’re trying, I really am, but I think I’d rather go back to my trusted method of shooting myself in the head.”

“Your experiences while dead will not be any better than what happened to you in your dream.”

“At least I won’t remember.”

Castiel shook his head. He could not let this continue. Despite everything, he had come to harbour a certain respect for Dean’s brother. He would no longer let him suffer alone.

“I will find a way,” he promised. “Lucifer is stronger than me and able to easily break through my shields even from a distance. But there are ways to strengthen the barrier.”

Sam didn’t look convinced. “What ways?”

“I will tell you when I found one.” With that, Castiel flew away. He knew he didn’t have long before his services would be required again. So what he needed now was a source of information.

The problem was not only Lucifer’s overwhelming power, it was also the bond between angel and destined vessel that connected him to Sam in a way that would be very difficult to block.

Castiel had underestimated this before, letting Sam pay for it. He could not fail again. Not only would Sam suffer unnecessarily if he did, he might also lose the trust he had placed in the angel. And Castiel found, to his mild surprise, that he did not wish for that to happen.

He also found that he did not worry at all that Sam would give in and say yes.

Finding information would be difficult. A year ago, Castiel could have asked the other angels for advice – now he was cut off from them, an outcast. Were he to approach his brothers, most of them would attempt to kill or capture him.

However, he still had friends. They were not great in numbers, but he knew of one who was well experienced with humans and might be able to help. Balthazar further had no love for Lucifer, Michael or this war that was going on. Perhaps Castiel would even be able to convince him of joining him and the Winchesters in their fight to stop the apocalypse, although he held little hope for it. Officially joining their side would mean having all of Heaven and Hell against him. Balthazar was no coward, but he tended to serve first and foremost his own interests.

He was also a good friend and would not turn Castiel down if he asked for a meeting, nor would he betray him.

All Castiel had to do was call him and hope he would be heard.

 

 

+

 

 

Sam, when Castiel told him what Balthazar had explained would likely work, stared at him. “You need to do _what_?”

“I need to sleep with you,” Castiel repeated.

“Sleep, as in…”

“We need to engage in sexual activities,” Castiel rephrased his statement so there would be no confusion. “During the act I will let my grace engulf you. When we reach our climax, the bond momentarily created will block out everything else. Lucifer will be unable to reach you.”

Sam was still staring. “You’re kidding, right?”

Castiel did not know what gave that expression. “Do I look like I’m ‘kidding’?” he asked with a frown.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

Sam sighed and rand a hand through his hair. “Seriously?”

Castiel thought about this. “I understand that it is considered the norm for acts of that nature to be performed between two persons of opposite genders, but…”

“That has nothing to do with it.” Same looks vaguely frustrated and vaguely desperate. “You’re an angel.”

“Angels are well able to participate in human copulation. I know of many who enjoy it a lot.” Balthazar, who had predictably declined joining their fight, being one of them. Until now Castiel hadn’t considered the possibility that that might have been his reason for advising this course of action. It didn’t matter, in any case, as this was the only way he knew of.

“You’re an angel,” Sam repeated. “And I’m me.”

“I do not understand why that is a problem.”

Sam laughed dryly. “You mean, beside the whole demon blood thing? The demonic powers? Being Lucifer’s vessel? Or the tiny, unimportant fact that I started the apocalypse?”

It was not an unimportant fact, but Castiel knew that Sam was aware of this so he let it go uncommented on. “You did not intend to do that.”

“What does it matter?”

“You are not to blame for your powers, or for being Lucifer’s vessel.”

“Even so, I still drank demon blood. Cas, I’m tainted, and you’re…” Sam looked aside for a second and swallowed visibly. “…not. You can’t do that with me.”

“As far as I am aware it is a purely physical act, so…”

Sam let out a sound that sounded like a groan. Castiel had heard him make it before when annoyed with his brother, but his eyes were shimmering in a way that indicated sadness. “Even if… You’re actually… You said something about your grace.”

“That will not be a problem. You are not as tainted as you think you are.”

It was meant to be comforting, but apparently it wasn’t. Sam shook his head in a way that seemed final. “I’m not gonna do that to you, Cas. Thanks for trying, but I can manage on my own.”

Castiel wanted to point out that he could not, and that he was seeing problems where there were none, but he was interrupted by Dean entering the room – once again without knocking.

He stopped and frowned at finding Castiel once again in their motel room.

“Dude,” he said. “Is there something going on I should know about?”

“No,” Castiel denied, because there wasn’t. Dean could not help here, and Sam did not want him to know.

Sam turned red.

Dean’s frown deepened. But all he said was, “Your phone is out of power.”

“How do you…?” Sam pulled his mobile out of his pocked at checked. It had indeed run out of power a few hours ago. “Sorry. I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, you’ve been slacking a lot lately. I’m not even surprised anymore.” Dean lifted his hand when Sam opened his mouth. “Stuff it. I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said. “Or rather, your stalker-girlfriend has – that girl with Chuck’s books? When she couldn’t, she turned to me instead. As if I was your damn mailbox.”

If possible, Sam looked even more pained. “What does she want?”

“Apparently there’s something strange going on at some event she’s visiting. She’s asking for help.”

 

 

+

 

 

What Sam’s “stalker-girlfriend” (who to the best of Castiel’s knowledge filled a lot of requirements of a stalker and none of a girlfriend) wanted them to help her with turned out to be a trap to lure them to a gathering of fans of Chuck Shurley’s _Supernatural_ novels. Since nothing but the Winchesters’ pride seemed to be at risk there, Castiel turned his attention back to the more pressing matters of the apocalypse.

Lucifer had been disconcertingly quiet lately, and Castiel was very worried.

He found that a large group of demons was in the process of gathering in a place called Carthage and started to look into it, resisting the urge to check on his human friends. He could not forget or ignore that Sam wasn’t well, mentally and physically, but the so-called “convention” would not be longer than a day and they would not run into danger and therefore did not need his protection

Or so he thought. As it turned out, the convention was actually haunted, but as it also turned out, Sam and Dean were still able to handle a haunting without Castiel’s support.

Much more interesting was that they returned with information on the demon killing colt once created by Samuel Cold and improved by the demon Ruby. The gun that could kill anything.

Including the Devil.

The Devil, who was currently gathering demons in Carthage in order to raise Death.

And when the demon Crowley, who was in possession of the Colt, let them have it without a fight, they had the knowledge where Lucifer would be and the means to kill him.

Bobby Singer helped them as well as Dean and Sam’s old friends Ellen and Jo Harvelle. They knew it was a dangerous mission; close to suicide. But they were all willing to risk everything if it meant bringing Lucifer down. This could be, as Dean said, “it”.

And then it was “it”, but not for Lucifer. Lucifer managed to separate Castiel from his friends and trap him, and in his absence both Jo and Ellen died. Dean managed to shoot Lucifer with the Colt, only to find that it did not work on him. And in the end Castiel managed to escape and get his surviving friends out just before Satan indeed raised Death and thus completed his set of horsemen.

Apart from everything else that had gone wrong, Lucifer had now come in direct contact with his vessel for the first time. Castiel would have done much to prevent that.

He did not actually know how the meeting had gone, having seen only the end of it. Afterwards, everyone was too preoccupied with grief to care much for their personal meeting with the Devil and Sam refused to talk about it. Castiel doubted, however, that it had discouraged Lucifer from approaching Sam.

The mission left everyone exhausted. Even Castiel felt a weight to his limbs he was not used to. He wondered if this was what being tired felt like.

His grace was slipping away from him. It would be a long time until it was gone completely, but he could not deny that he was, indeed, falling.

He could still help Sam, though. That night, after Dean and Bobby had drank themselves to sleep, he sought the youngest of his human friends to finally give him the rest he required and deserved. His hope was that Sam would be too exhausted to argue anymore.

When he found Sam in one of the broken cars in Bobby’s salvage yard it was lifeless and with slit wrists.

Sighing deeply and feeling more defeated and hopeless than ever, Castiel sat beside him to wait for morning.


	4. Chapter 3

Dean wasn’t talking to him anymore. Sam knew he was grieving and that he would stop his silence when he had to, but it still hurt.

Sam was grieving, too. Worse than that – it had been his fault. And he was alone with all of that.

Until Castiel showed up and quite stubbornly insisted that they needed to have sex right now.

It was not the kind of comfort Sam had expected or wanted. That was okay, though, since it was not meant as comfort. In fact, he was pretty sure when he finally reluctantly agreed that it would make him feel even worse.

Because Castiel shouldn’t be degraded like this. Not the only angel who made some effort to live up to their reputation. Especially considering he obviously had no idea what he was supposed to do.

It just seemed to get worse at any turn. Not only was Sam going to defile an angel, he was going to defile a _virgin_ angel. It did absolutely nothing to get him in the mood.

So after Cas had unceremoniously discarded his clothes and looked at Sam as if expecting him to follow some sort of protocol Sam wasn’t aware of, he shook his head and said, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

Castiel tilt his head. “You don’t find me physically attractive,” he observed. There was no hurt in it; he was merely stating a conclusion.

Sam took a deep breath. “That’s not even…” He stopped. Castiel was an angel – how could physical appearance or even gender matter in the face of that? “You never did this before, right? You don’t even know how to go about this!”

“I am well familiar with the machinations.” Did Sam imagine it or was there really a hint of indignation in Castiel’s voice? It would be funny if it didn’t make him want to cry.

Clearly Cas’ knowledge of sex was limited to a general “Insert tab A in slot B”, which on top of everything else raised the question of who he imagined A and B would be.

Sam wished he could just run out of this room and pretend this never happened. His head was pounding, had been for days, and his most recent suicide, usually working as a cure-all, had done nothing to fix it. He also felt vaguely sick, and at the thought of going through with this he felt like throwing up.

He wondered if that would finally discourage Cas.

On the other hand, if there was only a small chance that this would allow him to sleep…

Sam shook his head. “There’s more to sex than what you can intellectually understand. For starters, every person has different things they like, that, uhm… turn them on.” He looked away and felt himself blushing, unable to believe that he was having this conversation with an angel.

Or with anyone at all.

“Then tell me.”

“This isn’t just about me, Cas. If I understood you correctly, you need to…” – he cleared his throat feeling incredibly awkward – “…get off as well.”

“We will find out, then. You do things that can prompt a physical sensation, and I will tell you if it works.”

Sam felt himself blushing so hard he thought his head might explode. And then he felt silly about it because Cas said that as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. Which Sam supposed it was.

It was still incredibly awkward.

 

 

+

 

 

“That feels…strange.”

Castiel was propped up on a bunch of pillows, looking down at what Sam was doing with his hands and Castiel’s penis. The permanent blush that had settled on Sam’s face deepened by another notch.

The angel knew this was uncomfortable for his friend, but it had to happen. Sam needed rest and Castiel needed not to worry about what Lucifer might be doing to him in his dreams.

“Strange in a good way or in a bad way?” Sam’s voice was rough and his fingers trembling. He looked ready to bolt and the fact that he hadn’t told Castiel how much he longed for sleep himself.

He had stopped his movements and Castiel found himself wishing he would resume them. “In a good way,” he decided, even though the touch made him want to squirm. “Go on.”

They had been at this for half an hour and already there was a long list of things Castiel found enjoyable and a shorter list of things he found unpleasant. At first Sam had refused to touch him at all, unable to get over the fact that this was not, strictly speaking, Castiel’s body and that Jimmy had no way of giving his consent. After Casiel had told him that Jimmy was long gone, he had reluctantly agreed. It was what he had needed to hear, so Castiel had held back the much more complicated truth.

While Castiel was completely naked, Sam was still fully clothed. There was no need for him to undress in order to figure out which parts of this body were particularly sensitive, but Castiel still felt it was wrong, somehow. He didn’t complain, though, because he didn’t want to push Sam too hard.

He noticed the frequency of his breathing pick up as the sensation caused by Sam’s hands intensified. His heart was beating more quickly as well, and while it was strange and slightly uncomfortable, Castiel moved his body closer to Sam’s hands in order to strengthen the feeling he felt building inside him, almost against his will.

Sam suddenly gasped and his hands faltered. His blush deepened and he looked away, squirming uncomfortably and withdrawing his hands. Castiel noticed that he, too, was breathing hard and that there was a bulge under his clothes indicating he was has hard as the angel was.

It was barely a surprise, as Castiel had already engulfed his human friend in the embrace of his own grace. As his orgasm was building, the feeling was transmitted to Sam.

But as he saw the embarrassed expression on Sam’s face and heard his muttered, “Sorry,” Castiel realised that perhaps he should have warned him this would happen.

But there was time for that later. Now they had to finish this – Castiel’s body demanded it, as did practicality. A moment like this could not be wasted.

So Castiel took hold of his own penis and imitated Sam’s movements. It felt awkward and jerky and the result was not entirely the same, but at this point his body wanted the release the touch promised and was easily satisfied.

Beside Castiel, Sam gasped and squirmed, turning away helplessly and trying to curl into himself. Castiel could not let that happen. Contact had to be maintained – already he felt Sam slipping from his grace’s grasp, so he reached out and pulled him against his body. For lack of another idea he pressed his lips against Sam’s that were parted in his attempt to keep breathing and utterly helpless.

As if that simple act was enough to push him over the edge, Castiel felt relief flooding through him. Sam jerked against him, all control taken from him. The experience was so intense that the angel had to pull himself together so he could focus on what this was for.

The moment of sexual release was when the connection between him and Sam was the strongest. It created a closed space that contained only them, and in this space Castiel put up barriers to keep out everything else. Even Lucifer would not be able to touch Sam now.

At the same time, Castiel reached for Sam’s mind and shut it off. For as long as this sleep lasted, he would be protected.

Even though he knew it would not disturb Sam, he refrained from moving much. In order to keep up the shield, physical contact needed to be maintained, so Castiel merely shifted into a more comfortable position and pulled Sam with him so he was resting safely in his arms.

Aftershocks were running though him even now and he began to understand why other angels liked to entertain themselves this way. Castiel allowed his muscles to relax and his mind to go blank. He did not sleep because angels had no need for it, but he rested, and for the first time since he started falling felt some of the tension disappear.

 

 

+

 

 

It was hours later that they were disturbed.

Dean had left to spend the night somewhere else. Both Sam and Castiel expected him to get drunk and find a partner to work off his restless energy with, and afterwards he had intended to leave straight for an interview with a potential witness of a ghost apparition, claiming he needed to work on his own for a while. Though he glared at his brother while saying it, Sam had later told Castiel he wasn’t hurt since this was Dean’s way of dealing with his grief over Jo and Ellen. It was easier if he could blame someone and it _was_ Sam’s fault, after all, so it was better than Dean blaming himself.

Though the idea left him feeling slight uncomfortable, Castiel could not argue against that.

Neither of them expected Dean to return before noon. But he returned just after dawn and Castiel would never find out what made him come back early. It was however, inconvenient.

As was to be expected, Dean was very surprised to find his brother in bed with a naked angel upon his return.

“What,” Dean said, not bothering to keep down his voice, “the fuck?”

It as an accurate description, though it failed to cover the entire matter.

Castiel thought frantically. Sam did not want Dean to know about Lucifer and his regular suicides, so presenting the problem to him was out of the question. Since Dean saw no problem in sleeping with various and often somewhat randomly chosen people, he did not think this should become some kind of problem, though.

“We had sex,” he explained.

Dean stared at him. And ran a hand over his eyes. He looked tired and maybe a little drunk, but seemed coherent enough. “You,” he said. “Move your ass outside right now!”

He moved to leave the room, clearly expecting Castiel to follow him, but the angel called him back.

“We can talk here,” he said. “Sam won’t wake up.”

“Dude, I’m not having this discussion while you’re in bed with my frigging brother!”

Once again, Castiel thought about his options. Moving would mean leaving Sam unprotected, which would mean he had to wake him. Sam didn’t have all the rest he needed yet, so moving was out of the question. “We will have to have this discussion later, then,” he decided. “Sam needs sleep more urgently than we need to talk. Though I do not see what we need to discuss about this.”

Dean stared about him some more. Then he shook his head and left.

Castiel relaxed back against the covers and adjusted his hold on Sam. Dean seemed very upset and the angel knew he should talk to him, but it would all have been in vain if he went now and left Sam open to Lucifer. Dean would have to wait.

When Sam slowly rose to wakefulness just before noon, Castiel decided not to tell him about Dean walking in on them. It seemed like the kind of information the boy could do without.

 

 

+

 

 

Castiel went to find Dean hours later, when Sam was well rested and sitting in a café nearby, doing research on his laptop. Dean was in the parking lot of the motel, working on his car; something Castiel had come to recognize as a sign that something bothered him.

Unless there had been an accident, in which case it was simply a sign that the car needed fixing.

When Castiel walked over, Dean stopped what he was doing and leaned back, his arms folded before his chest as he watched his friend come closer. His face was closed off and he seemed to look for something in Castiel’s eyes the angle could not offer because he didn’t know what it was.

So he kept his face blank and waited for Dean to speak. It was him who had asked for this conversation, after all.

“Well,” Dean growled when it became obvious that Castiel wasn’t going to make the start. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel admitted. “I do not know of anything we would need to discuss.”

“You slept with my brother!” Dean exploded.

“Indeed I did,” Castiel confirmed what he couldn’t deny anyway. “But why would we have to talk about it?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Dean hissed. “For starters, even putting aside that you’re a virgin who makes whores cry, why would _you_ want to sleep with Sam of all people?”

It sounded condescending in a way Castiel found made him angry. He was aware that Dean had issues with his brother, but it annoyed him that he seemed to assume that everyone else would share his disdain.

“Why do you care?” he therefore asked. “You are constantly engaging in sexual activities with a great number of different women and never seem to see it as an issue. This week alone there were two…”

“That’s something completely different,” Dean snapped. “This is _Sam_ , for God’s sake!”

Castiel frowned, allowing his displeasure at the words to show on his face. “Why, exactly, would sleeping with Sam be worse than sleeping with anyone else?” he challenged.

“Because he’s my little brother, you dick!” Dean replied. “He’s not like me. Sam’s all about feelings and attachments and that shit. He doesn’t go around sleeping with just anyone. And if you hadn’t noticed, he kind of worships the ground you stand on because for some unfathomable reason he hasn’t given up on his faith completely, thanks to you. So if you decide to use him for some a casual fuck, I care very much.”

Castiel was, to say the least, surprised. This was Dean trying to protect his brother, not condemn him. “Sam was not unwilling,” he said carefully.

“No shit. You might actually have missed it, but Sam’s having a lot on his plate right now. He’s pretty damn vulnerable and needs someone to take care of him. And you know what happened the last time someone took advantage of him when he was vulnerable? She got him addicted to her blood and tricked him into breaking the world!”

“You believe I am using Sam like Ruby did?” The accusation was hurtful. It was not a feeling Castiel was used to, or something he liked. “After all I sacrificed for you, you would think I meant harm for him, or you?”

“Of course not.” Dean lifted his face towards the sky and took a deep breath; he didn’t look sorry. “But you’re not exactly having his best interests in mind either. You don’t care, and Sam needs someone who cares. You’ll hurt him. And then, I swear, I’ll hurt you.”

“Will you?” Castiel’s voice was hard. “Perhaps you should hurt yourself first, then. Because you don’t give the impression of caring a lot for your brother either, and I believe that hurts him worse than anything I could do.”

“What do you know?” Dean snapped, his face reddening in anger. “Yes, I have issues with the kid right now! After he thanked me for all I did for him by discarding me for a demon and fucking up the world you can’t tell me that’s not understandable. But I still love him and he knows that! This is just a phase, and he gets why I’m pissed.”

“A phase?” Castiel asked, frowning. “You have never displayed much more affection for him for as long as I know you. But perhaps I misunderstand your definition of love.”

“I believe you do,” Dean said icily. “You don’t even know us. You don’t know Sam. And I want you to stay away from him.”

Castiel sighed. His anger was still there, but it was beginning to drain away, leaving wariness in its wake. He knew Dean was hurting and that he needed someone to hold on to. Sam couldn’t take that role because Dean didn’t let him, so Castiel had to. And he hadn’t meant to fight with his friend. Dean was cracking under a burden he had never asked for; one Castiel felt, at least partially, responsible for. He didn’t want to add to that burden.

But he also couldn’t constantly ignore Dean’s faults.

“Perhaps you should leave that decision to Sam,” he said much calmer, trying to reach some sort of truce before their fight escalated.

Dean laughed bitterly. “Sam’s never been able to make the right decision on his own. If I let him, he’d fuck himself and us up even worse.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say to lift Castiel’s mood. To keep himself from saying something that would have the same effect on Dean he turned wordlessly and walked away.

 

 

+

 

 

Things got worse after that.

For a few days after Castiel slept with Sam, things seemed to be looking up – for Sam, at least. While still obviously feeling awkward about their sexual relations, he didn’t resist quite as strongly the next time he needed sleep. The rest he had gotten the first time Castiel had been able to protect him convinced him better than anything else could have that this was necessary and in the end Castiel could only tell how much it still bothered him by the fact that Sam once again postponed the inevitable until he could barely stand for exhaustion.

But Castiel had learned much the first time and now was able to take the initiative. All Sam had to do was lie down and let Castiel and their link take care of everything.

This time he fell asleep on his own in the wake of his orgasm. Castiel took it of a sign of trust and found himself strangely touched by this gift from a boy who had little reason to trust anyone, least of all an angel.

The third time, Sam wasn’t quite as tired and Castiel felt playful, wanting to further explore this activity he had only just discovered for himself. He had educated himself on sex in an unoccupied moment and was eager to try penetration for the first time. Sam was apparently surprised, but did not protest and Castiel was very careful not to hurt him. After they had both gotten used to the unfamiliar sensations, Sam had even smiled (for the first time since Castiel knew him) and muttered, with quite some fondness, “If Dean could see you right now he’d have to reset his entire worldview.”

Castiel never told him about Dean walking in on them, and for all Dean seemed concerned with Sam’s wellbeing in this arrangement Castiel didn’t think he had approached his brother about it. Regardless, he was obviously bothered, expressing his displeasure through small remarks on the side and dark glares whenever he found Sam and Castiel together, even though they never did anything but discuss the apocalypse and how to stop it.

It wasn’t like they were a couple. They weren’t even close friends, not like Castiel and Dean were, and yet the angel felt he was losing Dean over this. He tried to talk to him, but Dean blocked his attempt with biting sarcasm and a pretended appointment. It was very frustrating.

Sam noticed the shift in his brother’s mood, though he didn’t know the cause. He was very worried, asking Castiel to take care of Dean when his own attempt had ended with harsh words and hurt feelings. Castiel had no other choice but to lie and promise.

Apart from that, Sam was doing better than he had in months, thanks to the rest he got. He no longer had to die and suffer the consequences, nor did Lucifer torment his dreams. He wasn’t happy, but at least he was no longer on the verge of breaking. Castiel took some pride in this development, even while Dean seemed to resent them for it.

Humans were strange.

In the end their lives continued in this fragile balance for barely three weeks before things developed in a way that did not benefit anyone.

Castiel’s old friend Balthazar fell in battle. He received the message by coincidence and mourned in secret. His human friends had enough burdens of their own without Castiel sharing his grief with them. But not two days later Anna, who had been captured by Heaven due to Castiel’s involuntary betrayal (one of those things he left behind that did no need discussing) escaped and decided to fight the battle against Lucifer in her own way: by returning to the past and killing Mary Winchester before Sam could be born, thus robbing the Devil of the only vessel that would have him win the war. Her plan, Castiel hated to admit, made sense, but he still would not consider it. The world had better chances of survival with Sam around, he felt. Anna’s way was too final, and time travel left too much room for error. They might lose more than just this one human, might even make things worse.

What it came down to, though, was Castiel acknowledging for the first time that Sam was his friend, and that he would destroy anyone who meant him harm. The admission came as a surprise even to himself.

He was feeling strangely territorial over this boy whose destruction would serve so many.

Anna’s plan failed. They followed her to the past and Michael intervened in the end, killing her. Castiel wasn’t there, but Dean saw it. He remembered that Dean and Anna had been… close, for a short time, and could tell that her betrayal and death wore his friend down even more.

And while Anna did not succeed in killing Mary Winchester, she did kill Sam, if only for a moment. The boy never spoke of it but all the shadows around his eyes were back when Castiel saw him the next time and the angel could tell he once again ended up in what Sam believed to be Hell. (It wasn’t, but Castiel would not tell him that. For all his misgivings he was not quite that cruel.)

It got eve worse after that, for all of them. The horseman Famine showed up with the specific intention of winning Sam over for Lucifer, and while that ultimately failed, he did great damage – to Castiel who was helpless under the influence of Famine’s curse that hand him forget everything, including his friends, in his hunger for red meat. To Sam, who had managed to defeat the curse even after giving in to it and saved them all (and Castiel, who had failed, found himself impressed and proud of him in a way that made his heart beat faster and maybe hurt a little) but still had to suffer through a torturous withdrawal that destroyed so much of the progress he’d made. And to Dean, who was immune to the curse and all too willingly believed that he was dead inside and had nothing left to live for.

Castiel wondered, because he had to, if his apparent relationship with Sam did its part to make Dean feel insufficient. He wondered, when he stood outside the panic room and listened to Sam suffering on the other side of the door, if Dean had left because he felt his brother did no need him with Castiel there.

If so, Dean was very stupid, in that special way humans were. Sam needed him, not Castiel. He would always need Dean more than anyone else. And perhaps Dean would be able to ease his own suffering if he let Sam help him as he wanted. But Dean closed himself off and Sam had to suffer alone because Castiel could never be what he needed.

During the withdrawal, nothing could protect Sam from Lucifer or the demons of his own mind. He was sick and pale when it was over. He kept away from Castiel and fell asleep on his own, waking up screaming when the angel found him. For some reason Castiel could not fathom and Sam refused to explain, he hesitated a long time before he allowed Castiel to help him sleep again.

Then the brothers were found by other hunters and murdered in their beds. Castiel was not there to protect them. He learned of it only afterwards and was horrified to learn that this time both of them remembered everything that happened to them in Heaven. His heart ached for Sam before he could even begin to think of the implications of all this, but as it turned out, Sam and Dean’s souls were bound together and Dean was still under the protection of Heaven. Castiel’s brothers had no ground on which to treat Dean like they treated Sam, and so by being with his brother, Sam was protected as well. This time, Heaven was only Heaven for him, and while the experience left the brothers torn a little more than they had been before, Castiel took some consolation from the fact that Sam, and thus Dean, would never know what happened to Sam all the times when he went to Heaven before.

The fact that the brothers were soul mates Castiel accepted without the slightest surprise or sense of irony. It was overshadowed, anyway, by the realisation that God, the father Castiel had placed his faith and hope in, was not lost but had retreated willingly, leaving them to fend on their own. Abandoning them. God could have stopped all the terrible things that happened to (Castiel, to his friends) the world but decided to let them happen. God would not help them, and if they did not help themselves he would allow for Lucifer to destroy Sam and for Michael to take what would be left of Dean.

The disappointment and desperation was crushing, but it was not only this that drove Castiel to hand the amulet he had hoped would lead him to God back to Dean. He knew it meant a lot to the brothers and that the brothers would now need each other more than ever. The amulet, he hoped, would remind Dean of the bond they shared and that no matter how close he thought Sam and Castiel were, he was the one Sam needed, just as he needed Sam.

The next time he saw them, Dean did not wear the amulet. Instead he left them behind and ran away to say Yes to Michael.

After all the faith Castiel had placed in him, all the sacrifices Castiel had made because he believed in this man, Dean gave up. Gave up on himself and on them.

And so did Castiel. Without Dean they couldn’t win. There was no point in fighting anymore. He turned his hurt into anger and threw it at his friend in a desperate attempt to keep him from destroying himself and everything else, but all the time he knew that violence would not be able to change Dean’s mind. Nothing could do that. It was over and everything that followed was pointless struggle.

Castiel had fought so hard to protect Sam from Lucifer, and now, without Dean, Sam would give in anyway and it would all have been in vain.

Everyone knew it would happen like this. Bobby did – Castiel could see it easily, and Dean had decided that Sam would give in no matter what he did and that the only way to prevent the worst was to give in first. It made Castiel want to punch him and tell him about Lucifer and the dreams and what happened when Sam died just so he would understand how hard his brother had been fighting all the time, but he didn’t because it didn’t matter anymore. Sam was not the only reason Dean gave up, Maybe he was (merely an excuse) not even the most important one.

The only one who did not lose hope was Sam. When Bobby and Castiel decided to leave Dean out of Michael’s reach so he wouldn’t have a chance to say yes, Sam insisted on taking him along, right into the archangel’s arms, so he would have a chance _not_ to say yes. It was a kind of faith Dean had never shown in his brother in all the time Castiel knew them and he did not understand where it came from. He only knew that by this Sam had doomed them all. All he would gain from this act was having his faith shattered like Castiel’s faith in God had been ripped apart.

Castiel, for his part, would not go through this again. When the method he found to clear the path to Michael of other angels involved taking himself out, he did not search for another way. He knew he was leaving Sam to deal with the worst moment of his life on his own, but he also knew he could do nothing to save this boy after Dean was lost.

Sam saying yes was another thing he did not want to witness.

So Castiel banished the angels with a sigil carved into his vessel’s flesh. It ripped the grace right out of him and he let it go with a vague feeling of relief.

To his considerable surprise, he woke up again, far away and surrounded by strangers. Dean, he later learned, had not said yes, and Sam was planning to throw himself into Lucifer’s cage.

 

 

+

 

 

Castiel called to let them know he was alive while Sam was trying to convince his brother to let him go and fix the mess he caused. The call came as a shock – Sam hadn’t thought he would ever see the angel again, and the new wave of unnamed emotions that crashed over him, though mostly positive for once, nearly made him throw up.

It was too much at once. Sam was tired, constantly sick and so very terrified of what he was planning to do. He’d seen Hell, even though he did not remember the details, and where he was going would be so much worse, and it would be forever. He could not even begin to grasp the concept.

And while he desperately hoped Dean would be able to trust him that much (they had made so much progress lately, Dean had finally come to trust him again but this was _so big_ ), a shameful, unacknowledged part of him just as desperately hoped his brother would not let him go.

Maybe heir plan would fail. They might not even get the remaining rings from the horsemen. Sam almost hoped so, and he hated himself for it and hoped even more that all would go well and he would get the chance to go through with his plan. He had the chance to save the world, small as it was, and he’d have to go through with it even if this hadn’t all been his fault. How could he possibly put his own fate over that of everyone else?

It would save Dean, and that, in the end, was all the motivation Sam needed whenever his courage faltered.

But Dean was not convinced he could do it, and Sam could hardly blame him for that when he was pretty sure himself that he couldn’t do it. Defeat the Devil. He hadn’t even been able to gain the upper hand with the average demon that had possessed him so long ago.

He’d still try, because he had to. He’d try once Dean accepted that even though Sam would probably fail, it was the only chance they had.

So he put on a brave façade and showed a confidence he didn’t feel while his pathetic fear nearly strangled him and his hands were trembling with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in days because Lucifer was growing impatient, had not killed himself either because the agony and horror that lingered in his soul when he came back fuelled his fear of what was to come. He was not in a good state to make any decision at all, he knew that. He also was not in a good state to fight for the fate of the world.

Everything would have been easier if Cas had still been around.

The peace and rest he provided weren’t the only reason Sam missed the angel, though. They weren’t even the main reason. In all the chaos of his emotions, the grief over the loss of their friend was the only constant, and when a phone call washed it away in a wave of relief and joy, Sam nearly fainted.

Fortunately, both Dean and Bobby were too distracted by the news to notice.

Sam managed to postpone the vomiting and half-hearted collapse until he was on his own in Bobby’s yard, between the cars. Afterwards he managed to pull himself together because they had a horseman to take care of.

 

 

+

 

 

Cas caught up with them when they were facing Pestilence, although “facing” was a little too strong a word in this case. What they were facing was the floor, spitting blood all over it while the horseman laughed at them. It was not a moment of glory.

Cas kindly saved their asses, but while they got the ring they were after, they hadn’t stopped Pestilence’s plan yet. More action was needed to keep him from spreading the damn Croatoan virus all over the world.

Sam didn’t really feel up to it. He wasn’t doing so well, and getting his insides ripped to sheds by Pestilence had done nothing to make him feel better. He felt nauseous all the time, exhaustion was crushing down on him, and Castiel couldn’t help him anymore. Couldn’t help him because his grace was gone.

Another sacrifice a friend had to make for them.

Sam was not the only one struggling, and it was important to remember that. If Cas could make it through several states on a frigging bus to defeat a horseman of the apocalypse while suffering from the loss of everything that defined him and all the human limitations he wasn’t used to, then Sam could fight against a warehouse full of Croatoan zombies and demons while being a little tired and feverish.

So he did. They ended up stopping the virus and losing not a single civilian and Sam had to admit, in the face of everything bearing down on him that felt damn good.

Bobby got his legs back and that was something, too. Still, it wasn’t enough to magically make Sam feel good and fit again. Cas noticed too. It made Sam feel even worse when his friend apologized for being unable to help him and looked so crushed, as if it was his fault Sam was like this in the first place.

He never wanted to be Castiel’s responsibility. It was bad enough Dean saw him that way, always had.

Either way, Sam knew that by this point he had become mostly useless. His head was pounding, his throat dry. He had thrown up three times in one hour and breathing fucking hurt. It wasn’t just exhaustion, no; as if having the Devil in his head and facing an eternity of relentless torture weren’t enough he had also gotten sick. It wasn’t bad since in the definition of his family sickness was only bad if coughing blood or the plague were involved, but he was definitely not up to demon hunting.

And a demon hunt was exactly what was knocking on his door right now. Demons were taking apart a town not two hours from Bobby’s and even with the apocalypse having reached a pretty critical state they couldn’t just sit by and let those people die. The thing was, if Sam went there now, he would be more of a risk than a help.

So he stayed behind on this one. Castiel left to meet with Dean (who had gotten the ring, he got the fucking ring, oh God, Sam couldn’t think of that right now) and Bobby was somewhere else (Sam didn’t even know where, had hardly noticed him leave), so he stayed behind on his own. Got some time to relax, get some of his strength back. He wouldn’t sleep because Lucifer was waiting, but he would lie down a little bit and rest his burning eyes…

 

 

+

 

 

The demons that had taken control of the small town were easily defeated, but it still took the better part of the day to take care of the problem and by the time they returned to the car, Castiel was anxious the return to Sam. He did not for one moment believe his friend would be able to stay awake through their absence – he was exhausted, feverish and in pain –so while he could no longer protect him from Lucifer’s reach in his sleep, he should at least be there to wake Sam before it got too bad.

Sam would not get the rest he needed that way, but he might be able to recover some of the strength he would need in order to fight the Devil on an entirely different battleground.

Now it had lost its practical aspect, there was no need for Castiel to sleep with Sam anymore – a fact he unexpectedly found himself regretting, somewhat.

Dean watched him out of the corner of his eye all the way back, the hint of an amused smile on his face. “You’ll get back to your boyfriend soon enough,” he eventually said and kindly stepped on the accelerator, though it hardly made the ride any less frustratingly slow. Castiel, feeling the loss of his grace like an angry wound, shook his head.

“It’s not like that,” he explained. “Sam and I are not in a romantic relationship.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Apparently, Dean did not believe him. He no longer seemed to be bitter about it, however. The grim line that used to appear on his face whenever he saw his brother and friend together failed to show. “You know, it’s okay. I get it – you’re lonely, he’s lonely, whatever. I just… as long as you don’t hurt him, you have my blessing or something.”

His words and light tone reminded Castiel that Dean didn’t know anything about what Sam had been going through, about Lucifer and all the times he’d killed himself. Suddenly it seemed wrong to keep this from him – Dean needed to know so he would see how strong his brother was, how much he was willing to sacrifice. Maybe then he would accept that Sam was the only one who had a chance to beat the Devil.

Most of all, though, it seemed unfair to Sam that he should never be given the credit he deserved by the only one he ever wanted to make proud.

But Sam didn’t want Dean to know, and respecting his wishes was all Castiel could do for him. He owed him that much.

 

 

+

 

 

Despite his amusement with Castiel’s presumed infatuation, it was obvious that Dean was concerned for his brother as well. It had not escaped his attention that Sam was ill and when Castiel had shown up at their meeting point without him he had not questioned Sam’s decision to stay behind. If anything, he had been even more eager to finish the job quickly than Castiel had been.

The fact that he even noticed Sam’s state proved, more than anything else, that something had changed for the better between the brothers when Dean decided not to say Yes to Michael after all.

In the face of this, it was not surprising that Dean broke several speed limits on the way back, even though he pretended to do so for Castiel’s benefit rather than his own. Why he felt the need to hide his own concern was beyond the fallen angel’s understanding, but he had long since given up trying to analyse his friend’s illogical behaviour.

They pulled up before Bobby’s house and Castiel was out of the car in a second. Dean threw some remark in his direction that he didn’t pay attention to and followed, for all his concern, much slower. As far as he knew, Sam just had a fever and an upset stomach. He didn’t know, and didn’t have the pressing need to run up the stairs and wake Sam from whatever nightmare he might be caught in.

The house was dark and empty, indicating that Bobby had not yet returned. Castiel registered it without interest. He pushed open the door and found Sam, as expected, on the bed, the sheets crumbled and half-kicked off. Sam was sprawled over them, half-hanging off the mattress. He did not move.

Even with his grace almost completely gone, Castiel was able to see more and deeper than a human. He knew at once that something was wrong and when he hurried to Sam’s side, he found his fear confirmed. The boy’s body was cold and clam, the sweat that had once covered it had long since dried, leaving only slightly damp spots on his clothes behind. He had been dead for hours, and Castiel felt despair well up inside him as he turned him around, looking for the wound that had killed him yet knowing that he wouldn’t find one. Sam had not killed himself this time; his weakened body had simply been unable to handle the illness that raged through it. They had left him alone and he had died.

For one second, irrational grief and sadness washed over Castiel. Another second later he was gripped by something like panic as he heard Dean’s footsteps quickly coming up the stairs, because Dean couldn’t find out and he would. There was no way he could miss this.

Before the older brother appeared in the door, Castiel had gathered Sam up in his arms and turned around, heading towards the small adjacent room that was little more than a storage compartment with a bed inside. Sam hung limply, one hand flopping towards the ground, but to Castiel he felt like paper. It was no effort.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked the moment he entered, worry now unmistakable in his voice. He stepped closer but Castiel hurried away, out of his reach.

“I’m taking him over to the other room so we won’t disturb him while we change his sheets,” the angel said, quietly, to keep up appearances. “Would you mind doing so?” he added, hoping he could keep Dean busy in this room so he would not enter the other one.

Dean didn’t answer but he did not follow either, so Castiel assumed he went in search of clean sheets. There was some relief in that, but it would not solve anything if Sam didn’t come back to life before Dean’s barely-hidden concern drove him to check up on his brother.

And if there was one thing Castiel had learned though his friendship with this Winchesters it was that miracles did not happen to them.

While Dean is busy next door, Castiel placed Sam on the narrow bed and arranged his limbs in a comfortable position. He tried not to think of what his (former) brothers might be doing to his soul this very moment. There was nothing he could do but cover the boy with a blanket and hope Dean would not look too closely.

Sam was pale, but he had been pale before. Maybe Dean would not notice. Or he wouldn’t come in at all. One month ago he would not have come in, would instead have sat downstairs nursing a drink or ten and cursing his brother for not taking care of himself and thus delaying their next mission.

Today Dean came in not ten minutes after Castiel had closed the door. He entered the room quietly so he wouldn’t disturb his brother and kept his voice to a whisper when he asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s sick, but getting better.” The last part was not even a lie – as soon as Sam came back to life his illness would be healed. Also, at this point he could hardly get any worse. “He just needs sleep now.”

Dean looked vaguely relieved, though the worried frown didn’t leave his face. He reached down and softly patted his brother’s hand. The frown deepened and Castiel’s heart sank.

“He’s cold,” Dean said, confusion and alarm in his voice. “He’s been burning up when I left.”

“His fever has broken,” Castiel said quickly, but Dean was already feeling for Sam’s forehead. A second later he was gently shaking him.

“Sammy,” he called, followed a second later by an increasingly frantic, “ _Sam!_ Hey, Sammy, come on!”

“Dean,” Castiel said. He reached for Dean’s shoulder but his friend didn’t even seem to notice him.

“Sam!” Dean yelled.

“Dean, it’s okay.”

“He’s not breathing!”

“I know.” Castiel nodded. “It’s okay.”

“How can this be okay?” Dean sounded nearly hysterical now. “He’s dead!”

“Yes.” Even after the loss of his grace, Castiel was strong. He pulled Dean away from Sam and forced him to sit down on a chair. “He’s going to get better. You know that. Sam has died before.”

Dean took a deep breath and seemed to calm down a little. But then he ran his hand over his face and said, “Not like this,” his voice nearly breaking. “He was dying, and we left him alone.”

“We didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should have seen it. He’s been so tired lately, but he’s been tired all the fucking time, for months, and I didn’t even notice it got worse.” Dean looked at Castiel with too-bright eyes as if asking of absolution. “He’s been getting so much better since you… well, you know. And I was so worried that you’d destroy that, that you’d break him. But you didn’t and then we thought you’d died and it got bad again, with the not eating and not sleeping and I was…” He stopped for breath and to let out a hoarse laugh. “I was so pissed at you for leaving, actually. But I was even more pissed at myself because I hadn’t been there for him before and now I was but I still couldn’t give him what he needed, you know? We fucked things up so badly between us that we just can’t go back, but I thought we’d make it, eventually we’ll make it. And then I leave him behind when he’s fucking dying…” He took a deep breath. “But even that doesn’t really matter in the face of Sam’s stupid plan to take on Satan all on his own. Well, you know what he wants to do. Fucking idiot. But even Bobby wants me to fucking let him do it.”

His hands clenched to fists and Castiel, listening to the longest speech his friend had made in months, decided that he couldn’t keep the secret any longer. Dean needed to know and Sam deserved for Dean to know.

“Sam is stronger than you think,” he said. “He has been through more than you know of.”

Dean looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Castiel sighed. He sat down on the bed beside Sam’s lifeless body and told Dean what his little brother didn’t want him to know.

 

 

+

 

 

When it was over, Castiel regretted his decision. Dean was angry. Angry, shocked and hurt. He was mad at himself for not noticing, at Castiel and Sam for keeping this from him, at himself again for making his brother believe he had to carry this alone.

In the end he directed most of his anger at Castiel, who should have told him.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Castiel assured him, keeping calm in the face of Dean’s fury.

“At least Sam wouldn’t have had to hide it all the time!” Dean yelled. “Sneaking off to put a bullet though his head, how sick is that?”

“He didn’t want to worry you. You had a lot to carry.”

“I get that, okay?” Dean snapped. “I actually get that because that’s the kind of shit Sam pulls. But _you_ should have told me as soon as you knew!”

“When I found out it was not long before I found a way to block Lucifer from Sam’s dreams,” Castiel explained. “There no longer was a reason to tell you. And since Sam needed to trust me in order for it to work, I judged it better to honour his wish and not tell you.”

“So…” Dean sat down and ran a hand through his hair. “So this thing between you, that was just so he could sleep?”

“Yes.”

“So no deeper feelings between you?” Castiel couldn’t tell if Dean looked hopeful or desperate.

“Sam is my friend,” Castiel explained. “I didn’t want him to suffer.”

“I guess that’s good enough.” Dean let out a shaky breath. “And yet you allowed this to go on. You should have fucking told me. If I’d known I could have helped him after you were gone. Instead, he just kept falling apart in secret and coming up with idiotic plans about pulling the fucking Devil back into his cage single-handedly.”

“Don’t you see, Dean?” Castiel asked. “Sam is strong. He carried all of that on his own for months. He couldn’t sleep, and when he died he was being tortured as well. And yet he did not break. He did not even ask for help. Your brother has a stronger will than you give him credit for. If there is anyone who can defeat Lucifer, it’s him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean was yelling again, but now there was desperation rather than fury in his voice. “Won’t anyone for one second consider the possibility that I simply don’t want my brother to go to Hell? That’s why this plan is the most awful one I ever heard and yet you all seem so eager to let him go!”

Castiel could think of nothing to say in return. He did not want Sam to go to Hell at all – the thought filled him with a deep sadness and an unexpected sense of loss. But it was the only chance they had for defeating Lucifer, and it was Sam’s own choice. All of them had sacrificed a lot to protect the world from the apocalypse. They could not render all those sacrifices, all the people who had given their life for this obsolete because they wanted to save one single person.

It was not an argument Dean would like to hear this moment, Castiel was sure – nor was the reminder that most likely, for all Sam’s bravery and determination, he would fail and neither he nor Lucifer would ever enter the cage.

Dean was probably right if he thought that a plan in which the eternal torment of his brother was the best possible outcome was not the most brilliant one ever.

“This is important to Sam,” Castiel finally said, hating that he had to convince Dean to allow something he did not want to happen himself.

For now they were spared having to continue this conversation by Sam coming back to life. He drew in air in a cut off gasp and arched his back off the mattress, his whole body convulsing. Castiel immediately drew him into an embrace and held him close.

“Breathe, Sam,” he said. “You’re back. Everything is alright.”

He saw Dean reach out for his brother with a stricken expression on his face but withdraw his hand before he could touch him. Sam didn’t even notice he was there; his face was buried in Castiel’s shoulder and his body shaking with sobs.

Without a word, Dean stood. But he did not leave without throwing a glare in Castiel’s direction. _Look at this,_ it seemed to say. _See how he suffers after just a few hours in Hell. This is what you want for him._

And Castiel knew that moment that if Dean let himself be convinced and gave his consent to Sam’s plan, he would never forgive Castiel for it.

But he didn’t say anything. He just walked out and left Sam shaking in Castiel’s arms.


	5. Epilogue

Six hours later Castiel watched through the window of Bobby’s home as Dean approached Sam in the junkyard and gave his consent to his brother’s plan. They left to set it in motion before nightfall and when they said goodbye in a dark street in Detroit, Castiel knew that this was the last time he would ever talk to Sam and couldn’t think of anything to say.

Dean never tried to say goodbye at all. Maybe there simply were no words.

Then Sam said yes and Lucifer won. The devastation Castiel had expected did not come. There was hopelessness, yes, and the crushing certainty that all had been in vain, but his first thought was, treacherously, that at least Sam did not have to go to Hell and stay there beyond the end of time.

It had been a plan born of desperation. The only reason they tried at all was the lack of alternatives and no one was surprised it did not work. This was the Devil, after all, and Sam was, regardless of his admirable strength, only human.

This time it was Dean who would not give up on Sam. He insisted on going to him, even if there was no hope. Refusing to leave him alone-. So what other choice did Castiel have but to follow?

So he played his part, got rid of Michael just so Dean could have a final moment with his brother. It attracted Lucifer’s anger but was, perhaps, not the worst thing to die for.

The battle was lost. There was nothing left in this world but suffering from now on and Castiel had given all he could. This time, he accepted the end of his existence with something like relief. Dean and Bobby would soon meet their end as well, he was sure, and after them everyone else. Only Sam would be left, trapped in his own body and hopefully unaware, but at least not burning.

And then Castiel returned, unexpectedly and with his grace filling him with a power he had never felt before. Bobby was dead, his neck snapped like a dry twig and Dean was beaten but alive, kneeling brokenly before the utterly unremarkable spot where his brother had left the world.

So Sam had done it, after all. Castiel felt admiration and sadness in equal measures, and then something painful when he healed Dean’s injuries and Dean looked at him in awe and asked if he was God, as if Castiel could fix everything, could bring back Sam and all would be well.

Castiel was only an angel, though. He could heal wounds and revive the dead, but he could not save a soul that was lost.

He left afterwards, when Bobby was back home and Dean on his way to Lisa to honour Sam’s last wish. They no longer needed him. The fight was over and so was the time they had shared. Heaven was in uproar after the loss of guidance by both Michael and preordination and this was what Castiel now had to take care of. God had brought him back for a reason. He must have meant for him to bring order where no one else could and protect that for which they had sacrificed so much.

There was, however, something else he had to do first. Something Castiel could not let go no matter how impossible he knew it was. Because this wasn’t right; Bobby living and walking, Dean living the life he never admitted he wished for thanks to Sam’s sacrifice wasn’t right when the one who sacrificed for it only got an eternity of suffering in return. And neither was Castiel’s rebirth, his return to grace and all his new powers. Nothing could be right for anyone as long they were aware of the price that had been paid. Dean could never be happy like this, so at least for him Sam’s sacrifice had been in vain.

But Castiel was powerful now, more so than he had ever been. He was more than an angel and surely there was a reason for this. Surely, God wanted him to use his powers to right a wrong that He did not approve of. With these powers, Castiel would be able to break Hell. He would make this alright, for everyone, because he could.

So once again he went to harrow Hell, to free Sam from Lucifer’s cage.

 

 

+end+

 

October 26, 2011


End file.
